


Not Like Your Demons

by QuelleFablake



Category: Glee
Genre: Bullying, F/F, Gen, Neglect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2070774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuelleFablake/pseuds/QuelleFablake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shy and home-bound Quinn Fabray's heart is pure. Sadly, she has to live in a world that isn't. AU/OC. Warning: Deals with parental neglect, intense and graphic child abuse, bullying and other dark themes. Angst and trigger heavy. Dork!Quinn, Cheerio!Rachel. Faberry, Quinntana, Fierce and BrittPezBerry friendships. Brittana and eventual Faberry romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 

Quinn Fabray’s hand shakes a little as she turns the doorknob to get out of her room. She’s messed up again – she knows that as a fact – and she isn’t exactly thrilled to face her father’s wrath this early in the morning. Or any time of the day, for that matter, but especially not this morning when she still has the rest of the day to face and worry about.

She swallows the bile that rises in her throat and braces herself. The journey down the stairs seems more like a journey to hell than to her parents and her knees feel weak at the mere thought of going down and what’s going to happen when she gets there. But she knows that she’s just fuelling her father’s anger by keeping herself much longer and so despite the violent thumping of her heart she decides to just deal with it.

Russell spies her from his seat on the dining table the moment she reaches the last few steps of the staircases, his relaxed emotion immediately turning into a stony one. The fact that she messed up again is confirmed when her father somberly wipes his face with a napkin, stands up and slowly makes his way to her. It’s like a shadow is creeping towards her instead of a man, filling the walls with darkness and making her feel exceedingly, extraordinarily small.

The look on his face is so stoic yet so menacingly feral at the same time that she would have had taken an instinctual step backwards if she hadn’t known that doing such would only result to much more intense punishments.

Judy – the matriarch – sits still on her usual spot from the table, her back towards her family. Only the defeated dash in her usually perfect posture betrays the fact that she is aware of the reality that’s about to transpire in her home once again.

“I-I’m sorry, S-Sir,” Quinn whispers shakily even before Russell can verbally confirm her transgressions and she casts her eyes downwards, absolute shame seeping through every pore of her being. She’s always making a mistake and she can’t really blame her father for punishing her. She knows not meeting Father’s eyes will only result to extra repercussions, but right now she’s too frightened and ashamed to even do that.

Russell does her the favor of making her meet his eyes by pulling on her hair and twisting her head so her terrified hazel orbs are on his merciless green ones. The action serves nothing but make her blooming headache intensify. He tugs for a second time – this time even harder – and Quinn purses her lips to stop herself from whimpering. She knows from experience that making noise just makes her father angrier, his punishments harsher, the pain more unforgiving.

“What time are you supposed to get up,” he hisses, some of his spit getting to her face. She doesn’t shy away from his father’s ire even if she desperately wants to – it’s another thing that’s forbidden in the Fabray household in such situation.

Through her dread she is temporarily distracted by the wafting smell of bacon, and it would have been funny if it isn’t extremely terrifying, too. This is another one of her father’s favorite torture tactics – depriving her of food for several meals then making sure that the foods her parents eat smells all throughout the house so that they’d reach her nose and she’d be reminded of what pleasures screw-ups like her don’t deserve to have.

She feels the hunger pang in her stomach as she swallows her own saliva. She hasn’t been allowed food since yesterday noon and that plus her blooming fever is making her slightly dizzy.

Another tug on her hair sends her focus back to her present predicament.

“F-five o’clock, S-Sir,” she answers. She lost the privilege to call him daddy years and years ago. Rightfully so. Nor did he use his right to play that role.

“And what time did that typical stupid self of yours woke up?”

“Five-ten, S-Sir.”

She didn’t mean to wake up ten minutes later than her call time. It’s just that she has been fighting a bad cold since yesterday afternoon (which was hard since she isn’t allowed medication) and she woke up this morning with a pounding headache and cold chills (made worse by not being allowed a blanket either), that made going out of bed almost impossible.

“And that means?”

She knows the drill – it has been that way ever since – and she just hopes that her father wouldn’t punish her intensely this time. It’s wishing in vain, she understands, but hoping for that is all she allows herself to do. She isn’t about to deprive herself of that, too.

“It means I m-messed up again, Sir, like I a-always do, and I d-deserve every fitting punishment you send my way.”

Russell smirks victoriously at that (at least the bitch knows her place) but Quinn is unprepared for the merciless shove that sends her careering towards the hard wall. Her already aching head hits it first, her shoulder second, and the impact is strong enough to both make Judy jump on her seat and stun Quinn for a moment before turning her into a crumpled heap on the floor.

Quinn starts breathing heavily while trying her hardest not to cry as she cradles her head. Russell wouldn’t like that. The thumping of her head matches that of her heart as the coldness of the floor causes her teeth to rattle. When she feels Russell’s feet close to her face, she instinctually curls into herself more.

“Stand up,” he orders sternly, nudging her by kicking slightly on her forehead.

During any other time, Quinn would have had forced herself to lest she upset Russell more, but the blow to her head is still making her vision swim and her fever is starting to do funny things to her body. She feels so weak – now more than ever – and she knows that she doesn’t have any strength to stand up, so she just suppresses a sob as she moves both of her arms in front of her face to save her head from further damages now that she knows she has made Russell angrier.

Her action inspires him to throw two blinding kicks to her open stomach and she couldn’t help her cry of pain as the sheer strength of the blows sends her against the wall again. She rolls onto her back and cradles her battered abdomen as she lets the sob she’s been suppressing break free. The now red-faced Russell pulls her roughly by the hair, forcing her to stand up. The sudden stretching of her body causes her torso to flare up but Quinn knows better than to make any noise so she just bites her lip hard enough to draw a little blood.

“You worthless piece of shit!” Russell rages, pulling Quinn’s hair with every word. “How dare you disobey me?” With that another merciless punch is sent to her stomach and as much as her body wants to double over, it can’t, considering how tightly Russell’s hand is fisted in her hair.

He slams her against the wall again and Quinn cries out despite herself. “No money and lunch again today,” Russell declares. “You rotten wench deserves to starve for the rest of the day. Do you understand me?”

Quinn manages a shaky nod despite her tear-filled vision. She isn’t sure if she can stand the day without food again, especially now that she’s sick, but she knows that she deserves her punishment. “Y-yes S-sir.”

“Now go back to your room, fix your unsightly self as much as it can be fixed and try not to be worthless for once by not arousing suspicion at school.”

This gets Judy’s attention and she pleads against him weakly, her voice shakily making an appearance for the first time since the assault. “But Russell, Quinn’s sick. Why don’t you just l-let her s-stay-“

“YOU DO NOT GET TO HAVE A SAY HERE!” Russell bellows and Judy immediately deflates as Quinn flinches. “I will decide what this idiotic creature you call a daughter do. She doesn’t deserve any reprieve for not waking up in time and then more for trying to defy me.” He throws Quinn like a rag to the direction of the stairs and she manages to land on all fours. “Now get out of my sight! You disgust me!”

Shaking, Quinn scrambles to stand up and she puts all of her focus on putting her feet one step after another. The stairs are blurry from the fever and all the pain and the absence of her glasses (she makes sure she leaves them in her room before every encounter with Russell) and her oncoming tears, but she wants to get away from her father more than anything else, so she struggles to climb up, clutching her stomach all the time. Her knees buckle twice on the way up but she keeps going.

She crumbles to her bed once she reaches her room and it is only then that she really sobs. She curls into herself and presses her childhood stuffed lamb to her chest with her left hand as her right one tries to alleviate the severe pain in her stomach.

The tears won’t stop falling. Nor does she try to stop them. Why does this have to be her life? Why does Father have to hate her? Why does she have to be too much of a screw-up to be cared for by her mother? She hates herself, just like the rest of the world does, and wishes she’d just be gone. Maybe she’ll do the world a huge favor by doing that, just like what her father and people at school keep on saying.

School. She glances at her bedside clock. 5:25 am. School starts at seven. She’ll give herself five minutes of reprieve (her father doesn’t have to know), five minutes to get herself used to the pain before she prepares for school.

Now if only things at school are different from home…

\--

“Sloppy babies!” Coach Sue Sylvester of the Cheerios, William McKinley High School’s prestigious cheerleading team, yells through her infamous red-and-white megaphone to the array of fit-looking yet slightly terrified cheerleaders on the open field. “You think this is hard? Try being forced to watch Vampire Diaries then be banned from drooling, that’s hard!”

Cheerios is one of the few saving graces of William McKinley High School, a generally considered “loser school” in Ohio, in terms of its school standings. Contrary to the humiliating records of its football, basketball and rugby teams (which are downright humiliating), the Cheerios has been raking awards since Sue Sylvester was hailed coach a few years back. Needless to say, being part of the team brings one’s popularity to new heights.

However, joining also entails one to what seems to be the cruelest military training ever enforced since the Gulf War. Sue Sylvester is nothing else but an autocrat, a person who believes that winning can only be achieved by pushing your people way beyond their limits. This fact adds up to the reasons why members of the cheerleading team in the school are both feared and respected and not just pitied.

“Oh Lord,” she continues with an unfathomable distress in her voice. “I keep on failing to remember what the word joyful means each time I am forced to watch this grotesque form of wretched and maladroit bodily movements you all call choreography,” she adds. “So three more suicide drills before this morning practice ends and I expect you to at least perform half-decently tomorrow!”

Quinn has been watching the drills silently from a secluded area of the bleachers (the more invisible, the better), wearing her usual get-up of long-sleeved superhero shirt and skinny jeans, complete with her large glasses and the sketch pad on her lap. She loves watching the cheerleaders dance during mornings, but hates watching them suffer through Coach Sylvester’s personally-made suicide drills and so she takes her eyes off the cheerleaders for a while to finish her sketch of an elephant.

She admittedly likes cheerleading and dancing as a whole and she has even allowed herself to imagine joining the Cheerios, but the mere thought of dancing in front of people turns her into a shaking mound. She’s not brave enough to do that, nor does she have the beauty, body and talent to go.

After five minutes, the suicides end. Coach Sylvester says something really mean about the squad being pathetically inadequate and gives a partly-insulting compliment to Rachel Berry before leaving the squad to practice on themselves.

Quinn feels herself smile a little. She’s happy for Rachel (even if the girl is really mean to her at times). Rachel Berry may be the head cheerleader, and she’s bossy and cold as what the title entails her, but she’s also very pretty. And talented. And smart. She’s one of the few people who are sure to make something great out of themselves and leave Lima to be on the biggest and most exciting places in the world. Like the ones Quinn read in the books. Rachel is everything that Quinn isn’t, and for that, she thinks highly of her.

She takes another sip from the water bottle she filled earlier from the school’s water fountain. She’s in her second bottle, and it’s only 6:25 in the morning. She’s very hungry by now and honestly what she really wants to do is eat, but she knows that that can’t be done so she makes up for her hunger by chugging huge amounts of liquid.

It’s not enough, she knows, but it’s what she deserves.

The tall blonde cheerleader named Brittany Pierce playfully catches an unsuspecting Rachel in the waist before twirling her around, making the head cheerleader laugh out loud in that precious way of hers, and Quinn watches forlornly. She couldn’t recall herself ever laughing out that loud, and not for the first time in her life, she desperately wishes she has friends to laugh with, too.

But wishing for anything only leads to broken hearts, and Quinn knows that the hard way.

You see, when her father first told her that they’ll be sending her to a regular high school this year (because paying for personal tutors is apparently too much of an expense for a worthless kid like her), she was secretly excited. She has been a prisoner in her own home for the longest time and the thought of getting out and meeting new people gave this newfound (no matter how foreign) hope in her heart. Maybe, just maybe, someone out there would love her the way her parents can’t. Maybe someone out there would be able to look past her ugliness and weirdness and imperfections and just give her love no matter how much she doesn’t deserve it.

She doesn’t actually know what love and friendship really are, much more knows about how they feel because she’s never had them, but she’s read about them in books Ms. Holly Holiday, her favorite tutor, used to sneakily let her read (because her father didn’t allow that, too). She’s read about the feelings of warmth and peace and contentment and safety, especially safety, that love brings with it and the more she reads about it, the more her battered heart had yearned for it. She’s read about friendships and impromptu hugs and sleepovers and chocolate drinks and kisses on the cheeks and she secretly hoped that somebody – just anyone – out there would be kind enough to share them with her even if it turns out that she’s actually bad at them.

She longed to have real friends – friends like Frodo’s Sam and Harry’s Ron and Hermione.

She thought going to school could give her those simple things that her heart wants, and she couldn’t be more wrong.

It turns out that her father was right all along. She’s a freak, and no one in their right state of mind would ever love her. She’s ugly, and she dresses that way too. She’s just another stupid dork with stupid glasses. She’s too quiet, and socially awkward, and even if she learns how to genuinely smile, no one would ever smile back at her because she’d never deserve it. She might be lucky enough to manage to have a friend, but it wouldn’t last long because she’d just screw it up just like everything else that she does.

On her first week of school, all she got are burning judgment, cold glares, shoulder bumps, harsh words and slushy attacks. It burned her at first – but she is forced to cope with it the way she’s been doing her whole life.

She had to accept the fact that friendship and love is only for normal, non-screwed up people. Someone that isn’t her.

Her eyes burn at the thought of another thing she can’t have no matter how hard she tries and she distracts herself by focusing on her drawing again. She has to grasp her head when her vision blurs for a second, whimpering inwardly. She coughs with a hot breath then, and the action sends reverberating pain across her skull and making her eyes water. Her fever isn’t getting any better, she realizes, especially since she’s not taking any medication to alleviate the sickness, but it’s not like she hasn’t been in this place before and she knows that walking might help her a little.

It’s still 30 minutes before the classes start so she wipes her eyes and decides to just go feed the White Rabbit.

\--

Quinn passes by a couple – both seniors – passionately making out in one of the school’s benches as she makes her way towards White Rabbit’s cage and she blushes deeply at the sight before looking down, tugging on her Super Girl backpack nervously and walking a little faster towards the school park.

White Rabbit is the school’s pet bunny that’s being put on display at the school park and one of Quinn’s few favorite things at school. Everyone who passes by her cage could feed her with the grass that the janitor leaves on a compartment under her enclosure. Well the rabbit isn’t really called White Rabbit because there’s no name on the cage whatsoever, but Quinn wanted to personally name her -- the rabbit’s a girl, she painstakingly shyly asked the janitor – that because Alice in Wonderland is her favorite book and White Rabbit is one of her favorite characters.

(And also, the school rabbit is white).

Quinn offers a shy wave and a sad smile to her only friend once she’s close enough. Not a lot of students are fond of White Rabbit and they’d rather just pass her by instead of saying hello to her or something. She remembers seeing Brittany Pierce feed it on some occasion, but aside from her, nobody else seems to give the rabbit the attention she deserves. Quinn wonders if it’s because White Rabbit is missing three toes, and she’s just as much of a freak in their eyes as much as Quinn is.

But Quinn thinks that White Rabbit is special, and if only her parents would allow her to have pets (which she so desperately wants), and if the school allows her, she would bring her home. White Rabbit is extraordinary because all animals are and because the fact that she’s missing three toes could mean that she has survived something significant.

She bends down to retrieve some grass from the compartment then whimpers silently, forgetting about her recently-accumulated bruises on the stomach. She stands up hunched, closing her eyes and breathing in and out for a few seconds to allow the pain to pass. Once the pain subsides a little, she bends down again, a lot slower this time, and successfully gathers a handful of grass for White Rabbit.

She puts the grass on the rabbit’s feeding pot and watches with a fond smile as White Rabbit munches on the food contentedly. Quinn could feel her own hunger pains crushing her insides but she ignores it for the moment and takes comfort on the fact that at least White Rabbit wouldn’t be feeling that way for today. Unconsciously, she lightly places one hand on her abdomen.

“Like that, Little One, huh?” she asks, still smiling while stroking the animal’s furry forehead. As if the rabbit understands, she stops munching for a moment to glance up at Quinn. 

The blonde giggles and says, “Don’t mind me White Rabbit. Just continue eating please.”

The rabbit resumes her eating and Quinn’s smile grows pensive as she looks down on her Pikachu bracelet and plays with it.

“I wish I could bring you home so that you won’t have to be alone here most of the time,” she says. “Because I know how bad that feels, knowing that you have no one there to rely on when you desperately need help. Not one person for you. Not even for just one time.” She feels her tears threatening to burst out but she tries her best to stop them. She doesn’t know why she’s sharing these thoughts with a rabbit, but it feels refreshing at the same time. Besides, to whom else is she supposed to share these thoughts to?

“Out of the way, Odd Show!” 

Quinn shrieks a little as the force of the shove propels her to the ground, making her fall hard on her butt. Pain instantly vibrates on her stomach area once she meets the ground, and her whole world seems to twirl around her. She grabs her head to stop everything from spinning around so fast and looks up to see Melissa Tobin of the Cheerleading team with three of her friends looking down at her with victory and disgust on their faces.

Quinn tries to stand up but the dizziness gets to her almost immediately and she falls back down on the ground with her eyes closed to combat the spinning. This made her tormentors laugh. Any other time she would have had tried to stand up again and again to save some sort of dignity, but given the fact that she’s both injured and sick at the moment, this has to be an exception.

“So you’re talking to animals now, too, Freakbray? I see you’ve finally figured out the real species you belong to,” Melissa snarls.

All four of them share sets of mocking laughter and Quinn lets her eyes fall back on the ground as her ears turn pink, rightfully embarrassed.

“Anyway we just passed by to give you a piece of our minds. That, and we’re also bored. Next time learn to control your freak urges to avoid further embarrassment, okay? As if you’re not enough of an embarrassment in the first place.”

They all pass beside her sitting form one by one, making sure that their handbags collide with her head. Quinn blinks back her tears. She’d never let them see her cry just for this.

“By the way, enjoy you conversation, Elf Ear.”

“And we hope you get to meet the rest of your clan.”

Their departing laughter is making her chest hurt but Quinn picks herself off from the ground, wincing at the pounding in her head and the ache in her stomach. She then checks if White Rabbit is OK. She seems fine, obliviously nibbling on her grass and although all she wants is to break down and cry, she pats the rabbit’s head and gives her a shaky smile.

“We’ll be OK, White Rabbit…”

She doesn’t notice Rachel Berry watching her with an intrigued frown from one of the benches.

\--

The first time Quinn stepped into the school library was five months ago, when they, the new students, were given a school-wide tour of WMHS by the Senior Officers at the start of the school year. Quinn is in third year, and she has shared the tour with a few transferees and first year students. She remembers how her heart jumped out of her chest and how her mouth went wide as she took in everything that are inside – surely, there couldn’t be that many books!

There are like hundreds, if not thousands of them in there, and Quinn had to bite her lip real hard and ground her feet against the floor to stop herself from running around and hugging everything. It was like heaven for her. Like dream come true. She thought all the books in the world are just a little more than those that Ms. Holiday let her read, but it turns out there are so much more!

She asked the Senior Officer if they’re allowed to read everything in there and gasped unbelievably when he answered yes. Everybody looked at her like she’s grown heads or something, and she heard some of them even call her weirdo under their breaths (which guaranteed the beginning of the whole Weirdo!Quinn saga), yet at that time she didn’t even care. Because there are hundreds to thousands of books in here, and she’s allowed to read all of them!

Her father never brought her books, except those that were made for learning. But her elder sister has – had – some, fairytales and fictions, and she’d read them to Quinn every night before she... And Quinn had read them secretly after she learned how to read herself. She’d always easily get lost in them for they speak of different worlds, and Quinn longed to explore all of them. Her father rarely lets her out of the house because she brings him shame, and books were all that Quinn relied on to know what the world outside looks and how it feels.

And then Ms. Holly Holiday came, and she, unlike her father, had believed that young Quinn should be reading. She has been Quinn’s tutor for two years and she’d sneakily give her books to read all of the times that they’d been together. And Quinn would read the books religiously – even if she had to read them with the flashlight under the covers during midnights lest Russell catches her – but she loved the books, loved everything in them, and longed to experience things that authors say. Visit every place. Meet every animal. Do everything. If only she weren’t too humiliating to be allowed.

And her secret book escapades went on, until Ms. Holiday had to leave. Her husband, Carl, was reassigned to a different state, and she went away with one last hug and a tearful goodbye. It was one of Quinn’s most heartbreaking moments. Apart from her sister, Ms. Holiday was the only person who has made her feel all warm inside, made her believe that she isn’t much of a waste of space. She thinks of Ms. Holidays and remembers smiles, hugs, books and kisses. She smelled like cinnamon, and Quinn comforts herself with the fact that she will forever have that in her memory at least. A lot of tutors came and went after her, but sadly none of them were kind like Ms. Holiday.

Quinn coughs painfully, and she is blown away from her thoughts of Ms. Holiday, to the present. And presently, she is in the library again, reading what seems to be the fiftieth book she has read since the beginning of the school year, during lunch time because she isn’t allowed lunch again, and through flailing vision because she is sick and starving. She takes her water bottle from the bag (sixth or seventh bottle since this morning) and downs everything in few big gulps. Her stomach is still twisting, but she can’t think of that right now.

Ever since her eventful discovery of the place, Quinn has spent majority of her time in the library, especially during lunchtimes when Russell refuses to hand her food or money. Which isn’t that bad for her, Quinn thinks, because the few times Russell allows her lunch are the times Quinn spends eating inside a bathroom stall because nobody wants to actually share a table with her anyway. Also she gets thrown at with lots of things every time she eats in the cafeteria or in every other part of the school.

On the next table, two friends are gushing over the book they’re both reading, which is Nicholas Spark’s The Last Song, and although they’re not making enough noise to get them out of the library, they do make enough of noise to make Quinn hear snippets of their conversation. And oh, if they only know how much Quinn wants to join them and share her thoughts on the book with them, too (because she has read it and loved it absolutely). But they don’t, and Quinn is pretty sure they wouldn’t like that either, and so she has to keep her thoughts to herself again. The two girls catch Quinn staring at them, and they both shoot her enough daggers to kill a beast, so Quinn hastily brings her eyes back to the book, ears bright pink.

She spends the next few minutes concentrating on her book, or at least trying to.

Her stomach is coiling again, and it’s bothering her because she is getting into the more exciting parts of the current fantasy novel she’s reading and she can’t concentrate. Also, her vision keeps getting in and out of focus no matter how many times she adjust and readjust her reading glasses and blink her eyes hard, so with utmost reluctance, she closes Warm Bodies and rests her throbbing head atop the book.

She closes her eyes slowly.

Only five minutes and she’ll resume reading again.

\--

She is jolted awake by the sound of the school bell.

At first she panics; she thought it is Russell waking her up again in the middle of the night for another round of his punishments, and she has to take several fast and deep breaths before she realizes that she’s in the school library and she may or may not have fallen asleep. Well, she’s sure she’s fallen asleep, and judging by the fact that the two students on the next table are both gone, she may have been snoozing for quite a while.

She looks down on her watch and her eyes widen comically.

Oh no no no…

Because it’s about time for the first of her afternoon classes, and she has to get to her classroom in two minutes or less. She was never late, and even more than the tarnish it will put on her perfect record, she’s worried about what Russell would do should he see her attendance card and learn about her being late on one of her classes. He’d beat her to pieces, that’s for sure, and that thought alone makes Quinn’s hands tremble as she swiftly picks her things up and scrambles out of the library.

The pumping adrenaline is what propels her feet to move forward fast and she focuses on that instead of the aching muscles in her stomach. Only when her vision blackens for a few seconds while she’s power-walking through the middle of the hallway is she reminded that she’s sick too, and it’s a bad one at that. And while she can ignore her protesting bruises, she couldn’t as well disregard the nauseating dizziness her illness brings, so despite her anxiety and inhibitions, she allows herself a few moments of reprieve and leans on some of the lockers with her eyes closed, breathing shallowly. She realizes that her breaths are even hotter now, and so are the areas around her eyes, but she knows she couldn’t dwell on that at this point.

She weakly counts to ten and when she opens her eyes, everything seems clearer. She reigns in everything – her fever and hunger and hurt – and concentrates on getting to her classroom. Once she’ll be able to sit down, she can just disappear to the back of the class, close her eyes and feel a little better again, she tells herself over and over again. She’s very sick, almost deliriously so, but she knows no one will be able to help her but herself. She has to make frequent stops to lean on lockers along the way, but she tries to power on as much as she can.

She is doing quite well, considering her predicament, until she isn’t anymore.

One of her rather intense dizzy spells takes her by surprise, and she isn’t quick enough to find a locker to lean on. She feels she’s too weak to even have supported herself either way, and she doesn’t make an effort to break her fall as she feels herself tumbling forward, her entire body going limp. Her befuddled brain doesn’t even register that she has fainted directly in front of someone else and that she has managed to send them crashing to the floor with her, along with everything that they’re carrying. Only when she feels herself being pushed harshly away from another body making her back collide with something hard does she dazedly start wondering what’s going on.

“YOU STUPID FREAK! LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID!”

No. Somebody is shouting. Dread consumes her whole being – being yelled at normally does that – and she forces herself to open her heavy eyes through all the daze and maybe try to protect her already beaten body as much as she can. She pushes herself into sitting position and cautiously glances up to a seething Santana Lopez, Rachel’s South American right hand, who is glaring at her like she can murder her any moment, and holding what seems to be a broken wooden thing of some sorts in both of her hands.  
Behind the Latina, an equally-fuming Rachel Berry and sorry-looking Brittany Pierce are looking down at her with mismatched looks on their faces. Students have heard of the commotion, and a small crowd has gathered around them.

Santana advances menacingly, and Quinn automatically cowers, hiding her head behind her forearms, and braces herself for the pain.  
Because after the yelling the – always the pain.

A loud thud reverberates throughout the hallway and Quinn whimpers. The pain doesn’t come, but the sound of Santana’s iron foot ruthlessly impacting the locker beside the blonde makes Quinn’s heart thump so loud it feels like it’s clawing out of her chest. Her tears fall without warning, and she closes her eyes hard and desperately tries to rid herself of thoughts of Russell because at this moment all that she could think of is his face and his voice and his eyes and -.

Another loud rattle pierces her heart and she curls into herself more.

“Do you have any idea what you did, huh, Loser?”

She doesn’t. But she knows she did something wrong again; the worthless mess-up that is herself has ruined something again.

“I’m s-sorry. P-please don’t…”

“Keep your sorry sorry to yourself because it can’t make us pass our science class, Loser! I can’t believe we spent the whole goddamn night trying to make a damn well decent project only to have some stupid, insignificant, dirty piece of nothing ruin it for us!”  
Quinn shakily lets her eyes fall on the broken wooden thing in the Latina’s hands.

“I-I’m really sorry. I-I can f-fi-“

“SHUT UP!” Santana kicks the locker again. “Did I give you permission to speak?”

Quinn sniffs and shakes her head, still shivering on the floor. How could she forget that she’s not allowed to speak until she is told to do so? Her chest is physically hurting now, and she claws on it hard, trying to control her breathing. She can’t afford to have an asthma attack right now on top of this all.

“Why am I even surprised?” Santana continues, mocking her. “I mean, you’re so stupid the only possible thing I’m sure you’re good at is ruining things. And goddamn it, you’re so goddamn good at it.”

Quinn’s heart clenches further. Of course she knows that. Her father made sure she does, but having it confirmed from someone else hurts so much more.

“San, stop, please, you’re scaring her,” Brittany interjects, sounding scared and close to tears herself as she looks at Quinn.

The brunette just smirks. “Well, serves her right. She should be. After what she did.” She scoffs.

Rachel steps forward and puts a hand on Santana’s shoulder. “Come on, Santana. Brittany’s right. We’ll just figure that project out. Let that freak be, she’s not worth our time.”

The Latina groans. “Just a little more time, Rachel. You know I wants my revenge and I wants it now.”

“No,” Rachel says a little more sternly. “Classes are starting. We can’t risk being late in Science too. Mrs. Woodwick already has her eyes set on us. You know how much she hates Coach Sylvester, and one wrong move from our side and we fail. We’re trying to keep a low-pro here.” She then moves her steely gaze towards Quinn who meets hers with red-rimmed ones. “There’ll be time for revenge to that…creature. Leave that one up to me.”

Her voice is dangerously low, not near as loud as Santana, but there’s an edge to it that scares Quinn even more.

Santana acquiesces, but not before bending next to Quinn’s shaking, gasping form against the locker. “You listen to me, Freakbray, and you listen to me well. If the three of us loses our Cheerios position because of you, I promise that I’ll beat you up so bad you’ll start wishing you were. Never. Born. Do you understand me?”

Quinn bites her lip and nods, still crying. The thing is, she has long ago wished she was never born at all.

Santana kicks the locker one last time before turning around with her shoulders still tense. Quinn then looks up to see Rachel Berry looking at her with a hostile expression on her face before following the taller brunette’s course. Once the two leave, the rest of the crowd starts to disperse. 

Quinn doesn’t care that she’s late to class anymore. She sobs brokenly and buries her head on her knees, her father’s voice ringing in her ears.

Stupid.

Worthless.

Ugly.

Waste of Space.

Burden.

Doesn’t deserve to live.

She doesn’t cover her ears this time like what she usually does. They’re true. They’re all true anyway.

“Hey, are you OK?” A soft voice asks from somewhere above her and she takes her red, tear-stained face off her knees to stare back up at Brittany’s sweet face. The Cheerio is looking down at her with the softest, most worried expression she has ever seen in quite a long time. It mirrors Fran’s look after Quinn falls in the swing or trips down the stairs. Memories of Fran, who deserved to live so much more than her, brings more tears to her eyes.

Crouching down, Brittany touches her in the shoulder and she instinctually flinches despite knowing that Brittany is different from the others. Embarrassed with yet another showcase of her ‘freak tendencies’, Quinn lets her eyes fall back on her knees. The blue-eyed Cheerio looks utterly heartbroken as she continues to regard the smaller blonde with hesitant eyes.

“I’m sorry about that. They were both really harsh and you did not deserve that.”

“Don’t be sorry. I do,” she whispers dejectedly; it’s true.

“No you don’t. That’s why I really am sorry. I mean, San and Rachel are my friends, and they’re not actually so bad when you get to know them, but what they did was wrong. Please don’t think that it’s your fault. You did not mess up. They did. OK? Don’t worry. I’ll try to talk to them so that they won’t punish you any more than they already did.”  
Quinn meets Brittany’s eyes again and her heart clenches at the amount of honesty and gentleness that she sees there. It’s been so long since she’s been regarded with that look and before she knows what’s happening, more tears are falling freely down her face.

Brittany panics. “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t. It’s just – just, thank you.”

The taller blonde smiles sadly and wipes some of Quinn’s tears gently, a little pleased that Quinn only flinches slightly this time. Quinn lets Brittany’s finger touch her cheeks, and she watches as the other blonde goes wide-eyed before she moves her hand to cup Quinn’s burning forehead.

“Hey, you’re really hot. Like hot, hot. That means you’re sick or running a fever. I do that when I’m that hot.”

It’s Quinn’s turn to panic. Brittany may be considered a little low on brains by some, but she’s caring, and she might push her to see the nurse and that wouldn’t read well on Russell’s book. “I-I’m fine. Santana just scared me, is all.”

Brittany frowns, forehead crunching in thought.

“Britts! What are you still doing with Lizard-Face over there? We’re late.”

Quinn’s hackles rise back up as Santana comes into view once again. She regards Quinn with a pointed look and the blonde feels herself fold a little more.  
Brittany sighs as she stands up, still looking at Quinn worriedly.

“Leave that freak alone,” Santana tells her. “I don’t want you catching fluke germs.”

“Stop it, San, will you?” Brittany seems irritated, which is quite a rare feat.

“What? I’m just saying the truth.”

Brittany casts Santana a disappointed look before shaking her head and storming past her. The Latina tries to hold her in the forearm but the tall blonde yanks it away. Santana follows Brittany with a look that’s akin to hurt, then turns to Quinn with nothing but malice.

“What did you say to her?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Quinn says honestly.

“Of course you did,” Santana accuses. “Brittany looks up to me! She won’t be treating me that way unless you planted something in her head!”

“I really-“

“Santana!”

Both of them turn their heads to Rachel’s stern voice from the end of the hallway.

“Stop hanging around. I hope you’re planning to actually come to class before it ends.”

Santana huffs and closes her eyes, as if begging God for patience. Finally, she opens her eyes and levels Quinn with a glare. “We’re not done yet,” she threatens under her breath, before flailing her arms in an “OK fine, you win” way and walks away.

Quinn follows the duo sadly, until her vision swims again. She rubs on her face a few times to combat the dizziness and tells herself to stand up.  
She can do this. She has to. Just a few more hours.

\--

Quinn is feeling a little better that afternoon. She’s still feverish, but her dizziness has subsided slightly, and she’s starting to get used to the pain of her bruises. Also, the worst of her hunger pangs is over, and although she had to bend over a lot of times during her 3rd period that afternoon because it felt like she’s being stabbed repeatedly in the gut, she’s also starting to get used to it by now.

She has been extra alert in-between classes as well, knowing that Santana and Rachel’s revenge plans aren’t something to be taken for granted. To her surprise, not a single attack has been sent her way that afternoon, and for that she is grateful. It’s almost 6 o’clock by now (she’s spent the past few minutes in the library) and most students and teachers are gone, so the chances for the plans to be carried out today are slim to nil.

The fact that the plans may have been set to be executed on the next day isn’t completely ruled out, but Quinn thinks that she can take that. If she can rest later, then maybe she wouldn’t be too sick to accept slushy attacks tomorrow should any be planned. She can just pack more sets of clothing so she’ll be ready to change multiple times should the need arises.

Another part of her, the more desperate (and realistic, because she’s positive her fever won’t be gone tomorrow) one, hopes that Brittany had been true to her words and has been able to convince the other legs of the Unholy Trinity to discontinue the vengeance plots.

And although hoping is wrong, Quinn allows herself that.

However, one glance at her locker when she went to retrieve her homework that afternoon makes her know that something is utterly, terribly wrong.

Because her padlock has obviously been rigged, and instead of the deadbolt, a bookmark with the words “Prepare to die, Freak” has been inserted through the pad hole. With shaking hands, she untangles the ribbon, praying desperately that her things were left alone.

That Frannie’s journal was left alone.

Her heart thumps painfully at the thought of it being ruined alone, and when she opens her locker to see that all of her things – her books and drawings and school supplies – are all soaked through with slushy, her breath hitches.

“No, no, no,” she mutters, frantically digging through her soiled articles to look for her most treasured possession. Tears are already forming in the corners of her eyes. She has been subjected to tortures before, but this is the first time that her schoolmates thought of doing something like this.

She spies Frannie’s journal underneath some of her books and she carefully pulls it out. She’ll deal with the rest of her things later, she’ll make sure to salvage Frannie’s gift to her first. She opens the notebook and feels a little relieved to know that the journal’s leather cover prevented most of the slushy from ruining the pages inside. The edges are torn and tender from the moisture, though, and she decides to run it under the comfort room’s hand dryer.

She closes her locker and walks towards the direction of the girl’s bathroom with her head bent, not only to avoid unwanted attention, but to hide her building tears.  
When she rounds the corner, however, her heart stops.

In front of her stand four Rugby jocks, all holding slushies and wearing malicious smiles on their faces. They step closer to her, all at the same time, and Quinn tightens her hold on the journal as she swivels around as fast as her sick physique can carry in a desperate attempt to escape them.

The moment she turns around, however, four more jocks, this time from the Hockey Team, block her way.

She feels tears prick at the corner of her eyes. She’s trapped. She can’t escape this, she knows that now, and she forces back a whimper. She should have expected this. After all, Santana and Rachel’s wrath isn’t something escapable.

Accepting her fate, she hugs Fran’s notebook – or whatever’s left of it – to her chest then bends her body a little to cover it completely. She has no time to put it inside her waterproof backpack. But she’ll do whatever it takes to keep it safe. Even if it’s the last thing she does. It’s one of Fran’s few remaining memories. Closing her eyes tight, she braces herself as she waits for the freezing liquid to inevitably reach her body.

And it does. God, it does. The jocks didn’t even bother to hold back. Liters of the cold, sticky, multicolored liquid is thrown into her thin form, seeping through her t-shirt and into every crevice of her skin, sending horrific pricks of pain all throughout her physique. She gasps and trembles violently, but keeps her firm hold on Frannie’s journal, making sure that most of the slushy drips through her body and to the floor instead of on it.

All of her hopes of feeling better during the night is dashed --- just like that.

And even if she doesn’t think it’s possible, it feels even worse a few seconds later – when the surrounding wind reaches every part of her skin that’s covered by slushy – and she hugs the journal tighter, this time not only to protect it but to keep herself standing as well. Her chest is impossibly tight from the cold, and she starts panting fast and shallowly. Her teeth rattle, knees almost giving out from the intensity of her shaking. The contrast between the burning cold fluid and her (now again) burning hot skin is far from pleasant and Quinn whimpers and occasionally cries out with each painful breath that she emits. Her headache is starting to reach new heights, and she blinks her eyes intensely because they’re starting to droop once more.

The jocks are laughing at her, mocking her weakness, her pains, and Quinn is sure she’d be willing to give everything just for the world to swallow her whole and for her not to be seen again.

Finally, her knees give out and she falls into a kneeling mess on the floor, her glasses slipping out of her ears and clanging to the tiles. She makes no effort to retrieve it, since at this moment, all of her focus is directed on holding Fran’s journal to her chest with her left hand, and supporting her weight with her right. She looks down on the notebook, and releases a sob because at least only a little damage is done to it.

“Maybe this will teach you to watch where you’re going next time, Freak Show,”Azimio Adams, the biggest of the football jocks starts. Rachel and Santana sent the orders; that is for sure now. “You have four eyes; use them wisely.”

Quinn doesn’t say anything. It’s not wise to talk back. Her father taught her that. She just drops her head as she continues to shiver violently, knuckles turning white from her efforts to keep upright.

“And keep your ruining talents to yourself, because the normal people of the world doesn’t need it,” Rick the Stick of the Hockey Team adds.

“We’re just getting started. This is far from over, Fabray, so be free to consider yourself dead,” David Karofsky finishes.

And with that, they all disperse, leaving a trembling, sobbing Quinn alone in the middle of the hallway.

\--

It takes all of Quinn’s strength to reach the nearest girl’s bathroom. She had to lean against the lockers along the way because her vision’s swimming from her enraged fever, and her slushy covered glasses weren’t exactly helping.

The cold is seeping through her bones, and she dazedly rummages her bag for her two spare tops, having a hard time with even opening her zipper because she’s trembling that hard. Once she retrieves her shirts, she goes inside a stall, and hurriedly peels herself off her soaked top.

She wipes her slushy-covered body with one of the shirts as best as she can. If the head-numbing cold does something positive, it’s that it has numbed her bruised torso. She isn’t able to wipe off everything because her movements are limited, and the stickiness of the slushy isn’t easily wiped away, but at least she’s partly dry as she gets into her second shirt.

She comes out of the stall to take care of her hair. She blinks hard against the heat that seems to be oozing out of her eyes. She coughs, and the pain that it sends to her head is so intense that she almost topples over had she not caught herself against the edge of the sink. She takes a deep breath once the worst of the coughing fit is over, and tries to reign in everything as she wipes her face and hair with paper towels, trembling all the while.

After cleaning her face and hair decently, she takes Frannie’s journal so that she could run it under the hand dryer.

She’s halfway through when she realizes that she’s wheezing.

A heavy weight starts to settle on her chest, and she rubs small circles against it, hoping against vain that it won’t develop into a full-fledged asthma attack. Things are already at their worst, she can’t handle having it added to the top of her list.

She couldn’t inhale properly on her next breathing and she starts to panic. She kneels down next to her bag to rummage for her emergency inhaler. Her hands are trembling, and she fails to open the zipper of the right side pocket of her backpack on her first two shaky attempts. Finally retrieving her blue inhaler, she crawls to the nearest wall so she could lean into it as she administers her drug.

Panting, she opens her mouth, inserts her inhaler into it, exhales painfully and pushes its top button.

Only to find it empty.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shy and home-bound Quinn Fabray's heart is pure. Sadly, she has to live in a world that isn't. AU/OC. Warning: Deals with parental neglect, intense and graphic child abuse, bullying and other dark themes. Angst and trigger heavy. Dork!Quinn, Cheerio!Rachel. Faberry, Quinntana, Fierce and BrittPezBerry friendships. Brittana and eventual Faberry romance.

Chapter 2

The hallways are already empty when Rachel Berry walks towards the girl’s bathroom for a quick hair-fixing session before going home. Cheerios practice is cancelled today to give way to Coach Sylvester’s congressional campaign, so they all get the privilege to go home earlier. Rachel usually goes home with Santana and Brittany, but Santana offered to take Brittany to the lake this afternoon because the usually bubbly Cheerio seemed sad and upset (with Santana herself), and feeding the ducks in the lake makes her feel better all the time. 

Nobody knows this, but Rachel secretly loves every end of the day a lot more than the rest of it. She’s got a natural flair in acting, so no one sees what she really feels behind her mask. Sure, High School is a wonderful experience to her so far, and she has Santana to thank for that, but having to play the role of the cold, perfect head cheerleader all the time is exhausting, too.

She loves to go home every afternoon and sink herself inside her fathers’ warm hugs, completely letting go of her cold persona as she shares bits and pieces of her post high school dreams with them. She loves sprawling on the couch while having her usual chocolate drink and watching stupid television shows without worrying about not pleasing Coach Sylvester or her peers all the time. She loves stripping out of her tight, short Cheerios uniform and slip into her thousand-times-more comfortable clothes. She likes spending nights with Santana and Brittany, safe inside the comforts of her room, playing video games until morning, without snapping their heads every now and then to check whether their actions are affecting their reputation or not.

Some may say she’s extremely lucky, but every day at school is a battle for her, too. Internally. She’s being pressured to become someone she’s not in order to “restore order” in school, and honestly? She’s sick and tired of it.  
She can be herself all she wants in college, and that’s what she plans. But High School is a different thing – it’s where survival is synonymous to popularity, and Rachel has to live with that until next year.

As she walks, she passes by Quinn Fabray’s locker and notices its missing lock and the ribbon that’s in its place now. There are evidences of slushy drops seeping through the locker’s spaces. Clearly, hers and Santana’s orders have already been acted upon. She tries to rid her mind of images of Quinn being handed her punishments. Rachel is usually uncomfortable with having to put someone into the ringer, even after a year of practice. No, she’s still having a hard time getting used to it, a difficulty that weighs her down more when the victim is someone as innocent as that Quinn girl, but that is what’s expected of her. Not to mention, trying to get through an irate Santana’s mind is like trying to squeeze squished toothpaste back into its tube.

Also, passing that Science Class is important for the three of them lest they’d be kicked out of the Cheerios, the only chance they have for a college scholarship, and Quinn sort of deserves her punishment for ruining their project, no matter how mediocre it seemed. They spent the whole night putting that thing up, after all.  
She comforts herself up with that fact to lessen her stomachache-inducing guilt, especially when she passes by a huge puddle of slushy along her way, and she just hurries to get to the bathroom so she can get through the day.

She’s almost home.

She’ll always feels better at home.

However, she doesn’t expect the sight that welcomes her as she reaches the bathroom’s doorway, and she temporarily freezes in shock.  
Quinn Fabray is sprawled on the far wall, pale and trembling, knees folded to her chest as she desperately struggles to breathe. Her blonde hair still has red and blue slushy residues on them, and her lips are turning blue from breathlessness. Rachel places her hand on her mouth as she tries to take in what’s happening and how she is related to all of this.

And oh Lord. She has never, ever, ever wanted it to come to this.

The struggling blonde spots her and her heavy, glassy eyes immediately widen as she weakly regards Rachel with a terrified expression. Apparent panic at seeing her tormentor causes her to breathe even harder and she clutches her chest tighter as she tries to shrink further against the wall.

“I-I’m s-sorry. Pl-please, not n-now… P-please…” she pants.

The shaken, terrified look on her pale face is clenching Rachel’s own heart for some reason and she quickly brushes all thoughts away as she runs and kneels next to the girl. Guilt consumes her whole being, but she tries to get past the feeling for the time being.

She breaths deeply and gets into action. Right now, the blonde needs her help and that’s what she’ll focus on. Quinn recoils when she reaches her side however, and Rachel has to swallow hard to keep her own anxiety at bay as Quinn weakly pushes herself away from her.

It admittedly hurts, the way Quinn acts like Rachel is about to beat her up especially that the cheerleader is sincere in her desire to help (even if it’s partly because of guilt too), but she knows she can’t blame Quinn. She never can. Mainly because aside from tears and sweat, Quinn’s face right now is also littered with slushy.

“I’m s-sorry…I’m sorry,” Quinn keeps repeating, a petrified mantra, as she continues to cough and wheeze from whatever it is that she’s having. Rachel winces with every labored breath the girl is heaving. They sound so strained and painful.

Then Rachel gets the idea. One of her fathers, Leroy, is asthmatic, too, and he sometimes gets horrible attacks such as this one.

“Shhhh… It’s fine… I’m not going to do anything bad to you. I’m here to help you. I promise, it’s OK,” she explains gently, trying her best to look honest and reassuring.  
Quinn looks at her with a somewhat astonished look, but it’s innocent and hopeful, too, and the haunted look in her eyes makes Rachel want to yell. It’s like she’s begging for help, only that she isn’t sure if she could.

If she should.

Again, Rachel tries to swallow the guilt she’s currently feeling. “Are you asthmatic?” she prods.

Quinn hesitates but then gives her a shaky nod. Rachel takes note of the blonde’s worsening pallor, and the beads of sweat on her forehead.

“OK, listen to my voice. Try to relax, please. Do you have your inhaler with you?”

Quinn shakes her head. “I-it’s emp-empty,” she pants erratically, feebly raising her hand that’s holding the empty medicine. It’s shaking so hard. She looks at Rachel helplessly.

“Don’t worry, I have one here,” Rachel reassures her, rummaging through her bag while silently thanking her family for being over-prepared at all times. Ever since Leroy’s terrible asthma attack a few years prior to which an inhaler was not anywhere in sight resulting to a subsequent trip to the hospital, every member of the Berry family has been required to bring an inhaler with them, everywhere they go, at every time of the day.

Quinn is still watching her cautiously, breathlessly, so Rachel hurries up.

Finally, she retrieves the pink medication. “Don’t worry, it’s unused, so hygiene wouldn’t be an issue,” she says hurriedly as she uncaps the inhaler and prompts Quinn to open her mouth. The blonde obliges, and Rachel pumps the medicine twice. She is about to pull away when Quinn weakly holds the medicine in place and pumps two more times before letting go of Rachel’s hand.

Once it’s done, the blonde leans against the wall and closes her eyes tiredly and the two of them wait for the medicine to ease Quinn’s breathing. Rachel doesn’t know what to do with her hands, so she just caps the medicine, and leans on her back next to Quinn. She observes wordlessly as the girl next to her starts to breathe deeper.

“Better now?” she asks, after a while.

Quinn hums a little, then coughs. “T-thank you.” Her voice is raspy from the asthma attack, and Rachel hopes that it’s normal.

“You can keep this,” she offers, handing the inhaler over to Quinn. “Hygiene issues and all that. My asthmatic father’s the biggest O.C. out there so he won’t be using this anyway.”  
The blonde seems hesitant at first, but Rachel raises an eyebrow at her so she accepts it shyly.

A few moments of silence ensues, both girls unsure of what to do. Rachel, for her part, is still mulling things over.

Should she just go now? She’s the HBIC after all, and Quinn is the resident loser, and she’s not even supposed to be helping her now because that’s against the social rule.  
But there’s almost no one left at school, and Quinn is still really weak and, so she decides that it wouldn’t hurt for her to stay for a while. Quinn’s also shaking, and Rachel briefly wonders if Leroy had some sort of a shaking fit after his asthma attack.

She doesn’t think so.

“We should go home,” she suggests after a few minutes. It’s obvious that Quinn needs her rest. “It’s kind of late.”  
Quinn looks at her with unscertainty and fear in her eyes – like she can’t seem to believe that Rachel would ask her something like that. Not that Rachel can blame her; she can barely believe herself, too. “You won’t p-punish me?”

It’s like a cold bucket of water is poured over Rachel. Of course that’s what the other girl would think. That’s all she ever got from them. “No, no. Not anymore,” she says. “Uhm… Are you – can you go home on your own?”

It takes a few moments for Quinn to nod but even then she seems to want to convince herself more than she wants to convince Rachel. She stands up unsteadily then, slightly swaying on her feet as she does so. Rachel stands up as well, ready to catch Quinn because the girl looks like she’ll topple over anytime.

Quinn manages to regain her bearings, though, and Rachel watches as she walks towards the sink to retrieve a leather journal. Her brows furrow when Quinn turns the hand dryer on and runs the notebook under the hot air. Whatever that notebook is, it’s evidently valuable. Its jacket is covered in slushy, and Rachel feels the guilt clench her stomach for the nth time today.

“You can g-go ahead,” Quinn whispers hoarsely. She’s still shivering. “I-I’ll j-just finish fixing t-this up. Th-thank you for h-helping me, Rachel.”  
Rachel couldn’t believe her ears. She doesn’t deserve the gratitude. Just like you can’t be thanked for extinguishing a burning house when it’s you who has burned it in the first place. No, you don’t. Not one bit.

Quinn looks entirely sincere, though.

“I- are you sure?”

The blonde is unable to answer. Rachel watches in horror as Quinn drops the notebook and places four fingers on her temple, obviously having a dizzy spell. She sways in place, and Rachel catches her in the forearm to balance her before she falls on the floor and hits her head or something. Her skin feels hot to the touch, Rachel realizes, so she gently sits her down and kneels in front of her.

The brunette cups her on the cheeks, then her eyes widen as she quickly moves her palm to the pale blonde’s forehead, too shocked to notice how Quinn, no matter how dazed, slightly flinches against her touch.

Oh God.

“Quinn, you’re burning up!”

And it’s entirely her fault. She feels tears prick at the corner of her eyes but she blinks them back. She doesn’t even register the fact that she called Quinn by her first name when she always called her a mean nickname.

“I’m f-fine--”

“No you’re not,” she argues, immediately regretting her sharp tone when Quinn whimpers. “You’re really sick,” she adds in a gentler manner, studying Quinn’s face carefully. Her eyes are glassy from the fever, and Rachel berates herself for not noticing it sooner. “I would bring you to the nurse’s office but it’s already closed. Come on, I’ll just bring you home.”

Quinn shakes her head, then moans at the dizziness the action brings. “Y-you don’t have to let me b-burden you, Rachel.”

“No, I have to,” Rachel insists. “And you’re not a burden, OK? I’m half the reason why you’re feeling this awful, and that makes it my responsibility to take you home.”

“You really don’t have to-”

“No!” She’s scared and frustrated and guilty, and they don’t make up for a good combination. Quinn recoils again, so Rachel tries redeeming herself once more. “I’m sorry. But please, Quinn. I really want to help you. Let me. Please.”

Its then that Quinn coughs and it seems to take everything from her fatigued frame as her body sags a little more. Only Rachel’s grip on her forearm prevents her from falling on the floor.

“OK, R-Rachel,” she pants and Rachel sighs in relief.

The brunette quickly runs things into her head, trying her best to keep her composure. “Do you have a car?” she queries.

Quinn shakes her head. “No. I-I walk.”

Rachel will be damned if she lets Quinn walk on her own right now. “OK. We’ll take my car then.” She wrings her hands nervously to calm herself. She’s scared, but she’s not letting it get to her. Not now. “Come on, I’ll help you to my car.”

Rachel takes both her and Quinn’s bags before offering both hands to help Quinn stand. Quinn stares at her hands nervously before allowing Rachel to help her.

“Wait, t-the notebook.”

Rachel nods, letting go of a still-swaying Quinn for a while to take the notebook from the sink and stash it into Quinn’s uber-dorky Supergirl bag. Once Quinn is satisfied with the condition of the journal, they make their way to the parking space.

Quinn is at least three inches taller, but she’s extremely thin (almost alarmingly so), so supporting her towards the car isn’t that much of a toil for Rachel who is the epitome of athleticism. The blonde is sicker than she’s letting on, Rachel realizes, because she keeps losing her balance along the way.

Rachel touches Quinn’s forehead (to which the girl jumped upon contact before blushing and apologizing bashfully) when they were safely seated inside Rachel’s car. Her worry escalates. She doesn’t need a thermometer to tell that the girl’s fever is real high.

“Should I just bring you to the hospital? You’re seriously sick.”

The girl’s eyes widen alarmingly at the suggestion and she looks at Rachel, scared hazel eyes pleading earnestly. “No, p-please. Just take me h-home. I- No h-hospitals, please. I p-promise I’m fine, R-Rachel.”

Rachel is more than taken aback by the amount of fear Quinn is exhibiting. It’s like bringing her to the hospital would actually kill her instead of make her well, and she just finds herself nodding.

“OK. If you’re sure. But promise me you’ll tell me if you can’t take it anymore, alright?”

Quinn nods gratefully, relieved. But she’s still shivering so Rachel turns the car heater higher, before reaching for something in the back of the car. She’s so small, so she had to put both knees on her seat and stretch her arms to abnormal levels to reach the backseat. Quinn watches her, confused.

“Here, put this on,” she finally says after a while, sitting back down properly and handing over a Cheerio jacket to her blonde companion.

Quinn stares at the jacket, before biting her lip and staring down at her lap. “A-are you sure? I don’t want to r-ruin it.”

“Geez, how would you ruin it?”

Rachel is only joking, but Quinn’s eyes turn even sadder and she starts playing with her hands atop her lap. They’re a little too bony, Rachel realizes. Maybe she should make Quinn do something about it soon.

“I don’t know. I just would,” she pauses as Rachel raises an eyebrow. “I r-ruin everything.”

The last part is quietly whispered, but Rachel, with her kind-of-bionic ears hears it. The tone of her voice is so defeated that Rachel has to suppress a wince.

This is what they all did. This is what they – who the whole school considered the “better” kids – had done.

“Hey,” she says softly, trying to draw Quinn out of her quiet shell. “You wouldn’t. And I’m sorry if I was one of the people who made you feel that way, but you’re not ruining anything. You didn’t, or never did. We just said that because we were, I mean, still are stupid kids who want smart kids like you to feel stupid just because you aren’t as pathetic as us and I know that I’m just rambling right now and my words are jumbled or whatever, but you, Quinn Fabray, do not ruin anything, OK?”

Quinn doesn’t look too convinced (and there’s something else in her face – surprise?) as she looks at Rachel with a gloomy pout and watery eyes before staring on her hands again. Rachel wonders how many times Quinn had people apologizing to her. Probably not much. Probably not ever.

The brunette sighs. Quinn wouldn’t instantly believe her pep talk – okay, jumbled pep talk – especially after being made believe of the opposite for quite a while, but Rachel has to try somewhere. In a different time, maybe, when Quinn isn’t awfully sick and extremely sad and heart-wrenchingly lost. “Here, just let me help you with that,” she says instead as she gently takes the Cheerios’ jacket back – careful not to upset Quinn who for some reason flinches on the smallest of gestures – and lightly places it on the blonde’s back, making sure that her arms are fully covered from the cold. She then helps the blonde with her seatbelt.

She gives her a closed-mouth smile before heading off to the Fabrays’.

/

By the time Rachel parks her car outside a more-than-decently sized white house, it’s dark and slightly drizzling. She’s made the right decision by bringing the blonde home. It’s 10 minutes by car, which converts to at least 25 minutes of walking, and judging by her present predicament, Quinn could have had easily collapsed upon reaching the outside of McKinley’s main gate alone. Looking through Quinn’s side of the window, she briefly surveys the place. She has never been to the Fabrays’ before, but she can tell from the looks of the classically-styled dwelling that the family is well-off, at the very least. The house is slightly smaller than her own, but it has this unexplainable foreshadowing, ill-omened feel to it that makes her almost shudder. Like seriously, this house screams bloody murder. She can almost see a scarecrow chasing an ill-fated gardener with a raging chainsaw around the wide front yard while grey chickens make panicky noises that make the scene ten times scarier.

She snorts internally and shakes her head at her silly self, blaming her secret mystery novel and horror movie obsession for her overactive imagination. Maybe she should listen to her fathers and limit herself on that stuff.

She glances at her blonde passenger and her brows instantly furrow. Quinn is worriedly staring out of the window, looking at her own house like it’s about to swallow her whole while unconsciously twisting her hands on her lap. This confuses Rachel to no end because if Quinn is herself and it’s her that’s a few feet away from her home, she’d be halfway to her bed right now.

“Are your parents home?” Rachel asks, breaking Quinn out of her stupor. The gates are locked and when Rachel squints to survey the main door, it seems closed as well.

“I-I don’t know,” the blonde whispers.

“You don’t know?” Rachel asks with furrowed eyebrows, thoroughly confused. She is semi-conscious that her tone suggested judgment, but how can one not be made aware if their parents will be home or not? Leroy and Hiram would inform her of their out-of-town engagements at least two weeks prior to the date of their excursion so Rachel believes she has every right to be bugged about this.

Quinn just shakes her head steadily, like this is something normal and there’s nothing about this to be perplexed about. Not a single thing.

“They’re not at home. The l-lights a-are out.”

“Oh,” Rachel answers, still confused. “O-kaaay? Can I just have your keys then? Or do you have a spare here somewhere? I’d just get down so I could open your gate and door.”  
Quinn looks at her with a blank but puzzled expression, as if confused about why Rachel would be asking her that in the first place.

Rachel is equally weirded out. She would be asking her that in the first place because her own fathers supplied her with three sets of keys just so they’d be assured that she’d be able to get inside her own home should they be incidentally out.

“Don’t tell me you don’t have keys to your own home? Why?” Rachel exclaims incredulously. This time the judgment in her tone is more apparent and Quinn looks down on her twisted hands, looking self-conscious.

Rachel sighs and tries calming herself. She’s confused, but there’s no need to freak Quinn out right now. Maybe their families just have different rules and practices, and she’ll just have to learn to deal with it.

It’s still drizzling outside, so she’ll have to be sure to ask the right questions.

“Has something like this happened before?”

Quinn still looks uncomfortable, but she bites her lips and nods.

This whole arrangement is really off, at least to Rachel, but she tries pushing her thoughts away. “What do you do when this happens, then?”

“I w-wait.”

“’Til they arrive?” Rachel follows up, trying to hide her utter confusion. It still shows a little though; she couldn’t help it.

Again, Quinn nods, before breaking into a racking coughing fit. Rachel winces and rubs the sickly blonde’s back until the coughing stops. By the time it’s over, Quinn has turned paler and beads of sweat are forming on her forehead. The blonde weakly leans against her seat and tries to catch her breath.

“Hey, you still OK?”

Quinn finally looks at her and offers a weak smile. “I’m fine, Rachel.”

“Are you sure?”

Quinn just nods, then starts fiddling with her seatbelt. Rachel looks at her curiously.

“I-Thank you for bringing me home, Rachel,” Quinn whispers shyly, face turning pink. She then gives Rachel one last nod and opens her side of the door.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

Quinn sits back, purses her lips and looks at Rachel blankly, as if expecting Rachel to already know what she’s doing.

And yeah, OK. Rachel knows what she’s doing. She could almost hear Santana’s sarcastic voice saying: The weirdo’s going up your car, geez. But what she really means to ask is why.

“I mean I know what you’re doing, but why?”

“I’m at my…house, Rachel. I’ll just wait for my…for them.”

“Outside?”

Once again she can hear Santana’s No, she’s waiting inside so that when her parents arrive she can come out. Rachel shakes her head. People generally tend to ask obvious questions when taken aback.

Quinn smiles through a slight shiver and once again gives Rachel a self-conscious nod. She seems to be having trouble understanding Rachel’s confusion through this all.

“Uhmm. Yeah,” Quinn says, biting her lower lip. The nervous expression on her face makes Rachel want to hug her just to make it go away, but that action wouldn’t bode too well, so she stops herself. “Thank you again Rachel. I know I don’t deserve your help, but it really meant so much to me.”

Deciding to ignore Quinn’s self-deprecating comment for the time being, Rachel replies, “But it’s raining.”

Duh.

Her internal Santana really needs to shut the eff up.

Quinn looks out the window and sighs. “It’s OK, Rachel.”

Rachel doubtfully surveys the scene outside. The drizzles have turned into pelting raindrops by now, and the sun has almost fully set. The streetlamps provide additional lighting, but they won’t be close enough to offer comfort and security to a vulnerable, pretty teenage girl like Quinn. A sharp lightning strikes suddenly, followed by the loud boom of thunder, and Rachel catches Quinn jump from the sound, eyes widening in fear. The blonde’s breathing picks up and she must have been really scared because she suddenly and uncharacteristically catches Rachel’s hand in a tight grip. Only when the initial fear is gone does she notice that she’s holding Rachel’s hand, and she pulls hers away abruptly as if burned.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles almost incoherently. Despite the dim lighting, Rachel can tell that she’s blushing. She fights back a smile. Quinn is the shyest person she has ever met.

“Don’t be silly. It’s fine,” Rachel says with a smile, taking back Quinn’s hand on her own. The feverish warmth of the blonde’s hand contradicts that of the cold weather, and Rachel lets herself relax a little.

“You know what,” Rachel decides, “Let me just bring you to my home, OK? It won’t be safe for you to stay outside in this hour and weather. What do you say?”

Quinn doesn’t answer. Her eyes fall down on her lap and she starts twisting the hem of the Cheerios jacket with her free hand.

“Hey, look at me, please.” 

Quinn looks towards Rachel’s direction hesitantly. She doesn’t necessarily make eye contact but Rachel keeps it at that.

“I’d like to bring you home, Quinn. You’re very much welcome there. Only until your parents arrive.”

“But they’d be m-mad.” Quinn’s eyes are shining with unshed tears when she finally meets Rachel’s eyes. Her voice also has a slight tremor in it. Rachel wonders if she’s really just that scared of her parents, or if her fever is worsening, or both, and since all of her options don’t sound good, she decides to convince Quinn more.

“I’d call them once we arrive. Don’t worry, I’ll get this one covered.”

They seem like neglectful losers, anyway, Rachel wants to add, but decides not to.

“But your parents…they’d get mad at you, too.”

Rachel almost snorts. She can’t imagine Hiram and Leroy getting angry because of this. “They won’t. They’re not even there, so they wouldn’t know, anyway. And if they would, they’d probably be pleased to know that I’m helping someone who deserves my help,” she adds just to contradict Quinn’s earlier statement. “And then more. They’d probably be proud of me.”

“They will?” Quinn asks, slightly in awe.

“Uhuh,” Rachel reassures her with a nod.

Quinn looks back to the direction of the house with a nervous expression on her face, then turns to Rachel. The brunette looks expectantly as Quinn bites her lower lip and finally nods minutely.

“OK,” she whispers.

/

Only the soft music from the car’s stereo breaks the silence during the car ride to the Berrys. Their home is on the opposite direction of McKinley High so the trip would last for approximately 20 minutes. Quinn starts dozing off three minutes into the ride, with her golden head falling against the window from time to time. Her eyes are mostly closed during the travel but she’d sometimes put her hand on her temples or groan and cough weakly. Rachel keeps glancing at her sympathetically. The poor girl must be dead tired by now.

At least the rain has stopped pouring excessively when she pulls up on her driveway, and has once again dissolved into soft drizzles. One glance at her sick passenger tells her that the blonde girl has completely fallen asleep during the short ride, with her mouth slightly hanging open. Her hair is a tad disheveled and her face is pale, save for two fever-induced pink tints in her cheeks. She looks…gorgeous and Rachel sulks a little about how unfair it is that Quinn can still manage to look angelic during situations like this. She’s pretty sure she herself would look like absolute crap should this scene be reversed.

She makes the necessary arrangements and is pulling off the garage in no time. Quinn is still fast asleep and the exhaustion leaking through her pores is too apparent that Rachel detests the thought of having to wake her up. But she knows she can’t leave her to freeze in the garage either, which is worse, so she turns the engine off and walks out of the car. She opens Quinn’s door, and turns to the girl.

“Quinn… Wake up. We’re here.”

It turns out that Quinn is a light sleeper, and her eyes immediately blink open when Rachel pokes her in the arm for the first time. Rachel watches with a sinking feeling in her gut as the blonde scrambles away once she realizes that she’s in an unfamiliar place, her breathing picking up and her eyes frantically wandering around as she tries to figure out where she’s at and who she’s with.

Rachel backs away a little to give the surprised girl space. And it may be only because of the fever, but Rachel is really starting to wonder if the lingering haunted look in Quinn’s beady eyes is caused by something else.

“Woah, relax, Quinn. It’s just me.”

Quinn starts calming down slowly when she regains her bearings. She gives Rachel an apologetic look and eyes her own nails.

“I’m sorry, Rachel.”

Despite her worries, the brunette finds it adorable that Quinn doesn’t seem to notice how she puts Rachel’s name at the end of almost all her sentences.

“No, it’s fine. I startled you. Sort of. Let’s go inside. The Berry abode’s been empty all day. About time to change that.”

Quinn gives her a small, shy smile and Rachel takes her hand and helps her get through the entrance. Quinn is almost completely exhausted by now, and Rachel has to grab her by the arm to steady her balance. Her lids are half-lidded; Rachel’s pretty sure she can direct her to the hard, cold floor and she’ll fall asleep. She leads her to the large living room and has to fight back a smile when despite her not-so-healthy predicament, Quinn curiously cranes her head to look around as much as she can. Obviously awed, she gasps audibly at the scene that meets her, and Rachel lets her smile come out when Quinn looks at her with wide eyes.

“Your place is beautiful, Rachel.”

Rachel offers her a small smile. “Thank you,” she says modestly. Although Rachel makes her talents known to every human being she meets, she isn’t one to brag about the family’s riches. But she’s proud of how well her fathers groomed this house. The dwelling is definitely modern in design, with the walls painted in silver and white, and decorated with sets of furniture that are mostly black which her fathers exclusively order from a famous Filipino designer. In one of the walls is a giant frame containing all of her medals from all of the competition she’s been in – singing, ballet, dancing, acting, swimming, you name it. In another is a giant sketched portrait of the three of them laughing in front of the white modern-inspired fireplace in the kitchen. A large LCD television is placed in another corner, with a three-piece black designer sofa in front of it and four speakers along the walls. A glass-made spiral staircase leads to the second floor, in which all bedrooms are located. Expensive paintings line the house, and Quinn can’t seem to take her eyes off an extra-large portrait of cute little puppies playing around a fallen log. She’s smiling dorkily at it and Rachel’s heart warms for some reason.

She mentally takes note of showing more of the house to Quinn (and maybe of the many animal paintings in the kitchen), but right now, despite the blonde’s renewed vigor upon seeing the house, Rachel knows she should let her rest. She seems a little happier, but her eyes still look extremely heavy, and her balance hasn’t improved a bit.

“Come on, I’ll show you the guest room,” she says, taking Quinn’s hand again and leading her upstairs. The blonde hesitantly takes her attention from the painting and concentrates as much as she can on climbing up the staircases.

Once they reach the equally modern guest room, Rachel helps Quinn peel off the jacket and hands her one of her larger t-shirts she took from the guest room closet. She surveys the room and points to the room’s toilet.

“You can change in there, OK? I’ll just grab some blankets and other necessities. Or, I mean, can you change on your own? I can stay here and help you with…uhmmm…changing,” she finishes awkwardly, scrunching up her nose because, well, that sounded wrong on so many levels.

Quinn turns crimson and refuses to meet her eyes again. “It’s fine, Rachel,” she croaks.

“OK,” Rachel answers, looking anywhere but at Quinn, too. “Uhm... So, uhmmm… Please make yourself comfortable.”

Quinn nods minutely, smiling at the floor. She shuffles awkwardly to the changing room and Rachel watches her fondly before going out of the room to quickly look for fresh blankets.

/

Contrary to her initial plan, it takes Rachel more than a little while to get back. Her inner OCD decided to find the perfect bed sheet and blanket that Quinn would like, instead of just grabbing the one on top which is the normal thing to do. After making a mess of her father’s extra closet, she finally settles on the matching fluffy yellow sheet and blanket, with little puppies and kittens on them, remembering Quinn’s dorky smile when she looked at that animal painting. The last time she has used this sheets was when she was ten, but whatever. She’s pretty sure Quinn would like this.

Transporting the sheets to the guest room has also been a grueling task, considering her small size. She trips twice along the way (not that’s she’s admitting that she’s clumsy or anything), and curses God for the same number of times. Her grumpy expression immediately changes when she gets into the room, though.

Because her heart melts at the scene. Not literally. Or maybe literally? Is it possible for hearts to literally melt into a semi-worthless puddle? Because that’s exactly how she’s felt.  
Quinn is curled on the couch like an angel, face flushed and breathing a little raggedly. Her eyes are closed exhaustedly but Rachel is certain that she’s only half-asleep. She seems sicker than earlier, Rachel thinks, and she’s shivering as she lay there, but she can’t help but admire how the blonde looks right now. She has taken her reading glasses off, and Rachel can see how nice her bone structure is without that freaking gigantic bifocals hiding her perfectly-sculptured cheekbones.

Quinn coughs and groans, curling her hands around her midsection, and Rachel immediately springs into action. It has never even occurred to her to make Quinn sleep on the couch. In their home, all the Berry guests are treated by the Berrys like Kings and Queens (except Santana who takes the pleasure of treating herself that way on her own), and Quinn wouldn’t be an exception. Sleeping on the couch is uncomfortable, and it wouldn’t do a sick girl such as her any good.

She covers the shaking girl with the blanket and places a thermometer between her lips before scrambling around to fix the bed. Once she’s satisfied with the covers, she approaches Quinn again, careful not to startle her like how she did in the car earlier. She takes the thermometer from the girl’s mouth and shakes her head at the 104-degree-Fahrenheit reading.

“Quinn,” she whispers concernedly, not even trying to touch the girl this time.

She watches as long eyelids flutter open, and clouded hazel orbs come into sight. Quinn’s eyes are unfocused as they survey Rachel wearily and she lets out a soft moan, most definitely from exhaustion.

“Quinn, come on. I’ll bring you to the bed.”

Quinn blinks twice. “B-bed?”

“Yeah, the heavy rectangular thing where people sleep,” Rachel deadpans, smiling a little.

Quinn seems too disoriented to understand the sarcasm. “A-are you sure?”

Duh. Where else does she think she’ll be sleeping? “Absolutely, Quinn.”

“B-but I don’t want to-“

Knowing where the girl is going, Rachel hushes her. “Shh... I already told you, you won’t ruin anything.”

Quinn is silent for a moment. “Okay,” she murmurs after a while, probably too tired to argue. Not that she’s the type of girl to argue if she’s fit to do so.

Rachel helps her stand up and leads her to the bed. She finds herself smiling at the soft sigh that leaves Quinn’s lips as soon as her head hits the pillow. Her heart breaks a little, too, though. It’s probably the first comfort the blonde has had today. Quinn starts shivering harshly again, so Rachel pulls the blanket higher to her chin and places a huge pillow beside her. The blonde automatically hugs the proffered pillow tightly, and she lets out another soft sigh.

The brunette touches Quinn’s forehead again and grimaces at the heat coming off the girl. She knows that she really needs to do something to lower her temperature, so she reluctantly leaves the blonde’s side to pick up the cold compress her fathers stash in the freezer. When she comes back, she is surprised to find Quinn sitting up as much as her weak body can on the bed, eyes wide with fear, panting and shaking harshly.

“Hey, hey,” Rachel says softly, approaching the girl. “You’re supposed to be resting,” she adds, placing the cold compress on the table and sitting down on the bed, close to Quinn. Unshed tears are forming in Quinn’s tired eyes, and Rachel hates the thought of putting them there for some reason, especially after the terrible day the blonde has had.

“I-I’m s-sorry, R-Rachel. I was just s-scared,” Quinn whispers shakily, surprisingly maintaining eye contact.

“Scared?”

“That you l-left me t-too,” Quinn finishes, finally letting some of the tears fall.

Too? Rachel is confused, but mostly she’s just concerned. Quinn is obviously hurting a lot, from everything, and it sucks because she’s too good to deserve even a tiny bit of this. Her parents haven’t called and Rachel knows how terrible it is to get sick without your parents around. She gently wipes the tears out of the girl’s flushed cheeks, careful not to make her flinch. Surprisingly, Quinn doesn’t shy away from Rachel’s ministrations this time, and she even leans a little against the brunette’s soft touch. Rachel ponders about how fast things have changed. Just this afternoon, she wanted to strangle the girl for doing something she probably didn’t even mean to do, but now, all she wants to do is make her feel better. She’s only really been with Quinn for less than an hour, but the dorky, meek blonde has this side of her that is able to swiftly creep into Rachel’s heart and has stayed there since.

“I’m here, OK? I’m, not leaving. As long as you need me, Quinn, and even after that,” she reassures, moving her hand to the girl’s shoulder.

“P-promise?” Quinn asks tearfully, sounding so small that Rachel has to fight her own tears from falling.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” she says with a gentle smile, thankful that the tremble in her voice isn’t palpable. Quinn seems to trust her a little now, and she silently rejoices at that fact even if she knows that she doesn’t deserve to even be forgiven yet. She’ll work hard for that, even if the blonde tells her she doesn’t need to anymore. She owes her that much at least.

“OK,” the blonde whispers with trusting eyes. She looks a little relieved, and Rachel mentally pats herself in the back for a job well down.

“Here, let me help you lie down,” she offers, standing up and putting a hand on Quinn’s back. Gently, she guides her to lying position. Quinn grimaces and puts a hand around her midsection, and Rachel is immediately concerned.

“Does your stomach hurt?”

A horrified expression creeps up Quinn’s face before she tries to mask it. Poorly. Her hands are still trembling, and she can’t seem to look Rachel in the eyes again.

“N-no… I just m-moved the wrong way. I guess?” she replies, then swallows. Rachel raises her eyebrow (Quinn isn’t a good liar) but doesn’t say anything else. She thinks there’s a right time for prying. Just not right now. Her priority is to let her rest first.

“OK. Just…um…sleep now, OK?” she says gently. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll wake you up when the food is prepared and when you’ll have to take your medicine.”

Quinn looks at her then, utter surprise written across her features.

“What?” Rachel asks, a little amused, a little worried.

Quinn shakes her head. “Nothing. I’ve just n-never had…” she mutters then shakes her head, picking at the hem of her blanket. She’s smiling sadly though, and Rachel’s heart warms again. “Thank you, Rachel.”

“There’s really no need, Quinn.”

She watches Quinn’s eyes grow heavier, then remembers about the cold compress. Quinn’s eyes are closed by the time she puts it on the sick girl’s forehead. Not knowing what to do, she just sits next to the bed, watching Quinn succumb to sleep. Once she’s certain that the blonde is dead to the world, she momentarily leaves her side to take a wet cloth then starts removing the remaining slushy stains on Quinn’s face and hair. She feels the hot wave of guilt course through her stomach again. She can’t even begin to imagine how bad it felt for a sick girl to be heartlessly doused with the freezing, sticky liquid. She’s not one to think of worst case scenarios, but if Quinn’s situation turns to worst, it’s definitely on them.

Her thoughts are momentarily distracted when she hears Quinn mumble something in her sleep. It was too low to understand though.

She leans in closer. “What is it, Quinn?”

“Hmmm… B-bacon is salted or s-smoked m-meat… from backs… or s-sides… of pigs,” she murmurs softly, forehead crunching a little as she explains.

Rachel pulls away and makes a fond “what the fuck” face. Did she just define bacon? Bacon? Rachel may be a true-blue vegetarian but the way the blonde adorably murmured the word makes her think that maybe giving Quinn some non-vegan options right now wouldn’t be too bad.

“Would you like some bacon, Quinn?”

Quinn hums in approval and Rachel’s smile grows wider before she rises from her chair and grabs her phone. She has a call to make.

\--

“Toot toot… Toot toot…”

Rachel rolls her eyes. Santana always answers Rachel’s call by imitating the “busy” sound, even if Rachel knows that Santana will never be too busy for her. It was relatively funny the first time. And maybe until now, but Rachel often pretends that it’s just annoying her. She’s sitting on the couch now, just observing Quinn from time to time. The blonde is thankfully still asleep, not so peacefully, but asleep nonetheless.

“Hey San,” she breathes into the speaker. “I need to ask you something.”

“Hey Rach, I need you to just call me later because I’m trying to convince Britts to stop being mad at me,” Santana answers, sounding tired and annoyed. “It’s that weirdo’s doing, I’m sure of it.”

Rachel rolls her eyes. If earlier she’s just in doubt, now she’s sure that she’ll just have to explain everything that involves Quinn later to Santana. “How is she?”

“She’s still being cold to me. It never took her this long to forgive me before. I don’t understand; I didn’t even do anything wrong.” Rachel wants to correct her on that but decides not to. She still has a favor to ask. Besides, she can hear genuine sadness in Santana’s tone. A sadness that she only submits to Brittany, and sometimes to Rachel, but mostly to Brittany. “But yeah. No worries.” Santana breathes deeply on the other line. “I’m pretty sure she’ll warm up to your royal hotness in no time. So I hope you understand that whatever it is that you’re asking from me would be a bother for me at this moment,” she adds faux seriously.

“I wouldn’t stay long. I just have a few favors to ask.”

She hears Santana sigh then smirks knowingly. No matter what the circumstances are, she can always count on Santana to do favors for her. That girl may be a bitch, but she’s Rachel’s loyal bitch. She’s her real friends’ loyal bitch. And that’s one of the many hidden good things about her, even if a lot of people would argue that Santana’s just plain evil.

“Whatever. Shoot, Rachel, before I change my mind.”

Rachel suppresses a snort. As if. “Can you please pass by the pharmacy before coming here? I need some flu medicine and cough syrup.”

A few seconds of silence ensues. “Sure. Uhmm…” Santana seems to be having trouble articulating what she wants to say next. Rachel hears her clear her throat. “Are you OK?”

She rolls her eyes. Now that wasn’t too hard to say, was it? “No, it’s not for me, actually. It’s for my…uhmm…cousin.”

“Puck?” Santana genuinely sounds surprised. “I thought he’s immune to mono. If you’re immune to mono, you’re, like, immune to everything.”

Rachel massages her forehead disbelievingly. Random words of wisdom like these makes her want to go back in time and re-evaluate her life.  
“No. Uhmm… Luckily for me, Noah isn’t my only cousin.”

“Oh. O-K.”

“By the way, I’m so glad you’re concerned about me,” Rachel teases, knowing that Santana hates it so much when people tell her she might have a heart. She suppresses a snicker, imagining Santana’s deer-caught-in-the-headlights face.

“Gee. Don’t flatter yourself, Thumbelina. Concerned my ass. I’m just worrying about our project. You wouldn’t be able to help us fix it if you’re drooling around on your deathbed.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a heartless badass,” she answers sarcastically. “Oh. One more thing. Can you please pass by the grocery to buy bacon? Just think about how much more time that would give you and Brit to talk.”

“Bacon? Are you sure you’re not the sick one? Oh no! Are you dying?”

Rachel is about to answer but stops when she hears Quinn whimper. She fixes her stare at the blonde and notices that she’s squirming and sobbing silently, like she’s having some bad dream. The familiar sinking feeling in her gut comes back.

“Hey Rach?” Judging by Santana’s rare and precious concerned tone, Rachel must have had failed to answer her for quite some time.

“Hey, uhmm… I’ve really got to go… Thanks, San. See you later. And I’m not dying.”

She doesn’t even wait for Santana say her farewell. It’s probably going to be some heartless comment about finally getting rid of Rachel, anyway. She hurriedly puts her phone down and approaches Quinn’s bedside.

Quinn is moaning and whimpering in her sleep, eyes tightly closed, knuckles clamped along the edges of her blanket. Her forehead is crunched from the terrible nightmare that she’s having, her face so pale it’s almost translucent and tears are falling freely from her closed eyelids. Rachel cautiously stands next to her bed, at an utter loss of what to do.

“No, no, no…Stop please,” Quinn mutters, starting to thrash a little, her head now moving from side to side. She looks dreadfully disturbed, so despite the harsh thumping of her heart, Rachel sits next to Quinn’s shaking form and urges her to wake up.

“Quinn, hey. It’s fine; you’re okay. You’re just dreaming. Wake up, please.”

This doesn’t seem to work as Quinn continues thrashing and moaning. A choked sob escapes her lips, and Rachel feels her stomach sink even more. Now a little more desperate, she gently taps Quinn’s cheek with her palms.

“Quinn, please… Wake up…”

Rachel realizes that she made the wrong move when the blonde girl doesn’t wake up. Instead she starts screaming mutedly, lashing a little more, and weakly fighting Rachel’s hands, even.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry… I won’t do it again. I’m sorry… Help… P-please… I promise… I’m sorry…”

Rachel has never felt more helpless in her life. Maybe she should have just brought Quinn to the hospital. Maybe this isn’t her problem to face.

“Quinn, please wake up,” she begs again, tears now gathering at the corners of her eyes. Her heart is pounding too fast it’s almost painful, but she knows what she feels right now is nothing compared to how terrified the blonde girl is.

Swallowing all her fears and not knowing what else to do, she takes the cold compress from the blonde’s forehead and struggles to bring Quinn into a sitting position. The action elicits a sobbed moan from the blonde’s slightly parted lips and more series of weak fighting, but Rachel gently pulls her into a tight hug, whispering soothing sounds to her ears while she rocks her a little.

She isn’t sure if human contact is what Quinn needs, or wants, even, but that is what Rachel wants for her at this moment. The feeling that someone’s there for her when she wakes up from her nightmare, just like Hiram and Leroy had been there for Rachel. And it breaks her heart to realize that maybe no one has been there for Quinn all along, judging by how absent her parents are at this time.

And maybe it’s too early and too sudden to think about now, but as she hugs the other girl, as she listens to the violent pounding of her heart, as she brushes the blonde hair that clings to her warm forehead while she urges and prays desperately for her to wake up, she knows that she wants nothing more than to be there for Quinn.  
Suddenly the blonde whimpers and stiffens in her arms, and the tears that are forming in Rachel’s eyes finally fall down her cheeks. She knows that Quinn’s awake, she’s finally awake, and it renders Rachel relieved and worried at the same time. Rachel feels the other girl’s heart pound even harder as she faintly struggles to get out of her embrace, which is far from what Rachel plans, so she gathers enough strength to pull Quinn into her chest tighter.

Besides, she doesn’t think she’s ready to watch the terrified look she’s sure is drowning Quinn’s beautiful hazel eyes again.

“Shhh,” she whispers breathily, “Quinn… It’s me, Rachel. It’s OK,” she adds emotionally as she rubs the blonde’s back. And it takes a tiresome while, but Quinn finally stops shaking and fighting and she sags quietly against Rachel’s shoulder, and Rachel takes that as her cue to make this - all of these -better. “You’re OK. You were just dreaming. You’re safe,” she whispers. “I’m here.”

“You’re safe,” she says again and again, hoping Quinn will believe her.

A beat. It then that it happens. It starts with a little whimper, and before Rachel can fully understand what’s happening, Quinn is crying unto her shoulders, her back shaking with the force of her sobs. She’s not clinging to Rachel, or even hugging her back; she’s just leaning to her weakly, wearily, as she pours her heart out. Her cries aren’t loud, but they sound like pain and despair and surrendering all at the same time, and Rachel is left there stunned, aching, wishing that things aren’t like this. That she doesn’t have to discover how broken Quinn is because Quinn isn’t broken in the first place.

But Quinn is broken – and it’s her sobs that fill the room with the uninvited but expected air of solitude that somehow morphs into one huge ball of anguish and suspends itself under the safety of Rachel’s slowly shattering heart. It’s her tears that fall like needles on Rachel’s shoulder, not in any way sharp but still sip through cloth and leave raw pricks of sorrow against her skin.

Quinn is broken – and she’s here right now. With Rachel. So she just continues to whisper soothing words into her ears, even if she’s not even sure she can sooth her own self at this time. She’d be lying if she’d say that what just happened doesn’t terrify her until now. She knows nightmares are common to fever cases as high as Quinn’s, but she never thought it could be that bad.

The blonde is still crying, and Rachel has this strange feeling that it’s not just about the nightmare. So she lets Quinn cry her hurt out, not probably for the first time, but probably for the first time with someone there to hold her.

After about twenty minutes, Quinn finally grows silent in Rachel’s arms, but the brunette’s moment of relief is cut short when she hears her wheeze and feels her back heave. Worriedly, she gently pulls Quinn away from her to survey her face, and although she isn’t entirely surprised, her heart still breaks once it is made clear to her that Quinn is having another one of her asthma attacks.

She carefully positions Quinn so that she is leaning against the headboard then hurriedly runs towards Quinn’s bag and digs for the inhaler she saw the girl put in the front pocket earlier.

“OK. Inhale… Now exhale,” she instructs as for the second time that day she helps Quinn with the medicine, then carefully observes until she’s sure that Quinn’s breathing well again. She puts the inhaler on the table, just in case they’ll need it again later then turns back to Quinn.

The blonde is avoiding her eyes once more, just gazing at her lap, her own eyes half-lidded, and Rachel feels this overwhelming need to see her eyes, perhaps have an inkling on how Quinn is feeling. “Quinn,” she urges gently, carefully taking the blondes still-shaking hand in hers.

“I-I’m sorry. I r-ruined your shirt,” Quinn whispers hoarsely, eyes moving to their enjoined hands. Her shoulders spasm once as she obviously stifles a cough.  
Rachel offers a short laugh as she curtly rubs the blonde’s back. Her laugh sounds dry, though, even to her. “Don’t worry about that,” she reassures. “I totally hate this shirt anyway. You were doing me a favor, really.”

OK. Maybe she’s lying because she wholeheartedly loves this stupid shirt with carousel print in front like she loves singing but Quinn really doesn’t need to feel guilty over things as trivial as this when she already has pains too heavy for her frail physique to bear. She still looks painfully guilty, though, so Rachel squeezes her hand gently.

“Quinn, look at me, please,” she coaxes, leaning forward hoping that Quinn would look at her.  
And Quinn does, shakily. Tears are gathering in her scared eyes, and Rachel has to swallow hard to stop her own tears at the amount of sadness and sorrow that she sees in there.

“Do not ever say sorry to me again for this, OK,” she says slowly, looking Quinn square in the eyes to convey her sincerity. “You’re doing me a huge favor by letting me take care of you. I’ve been nothing but horrible to you even if you didn’t deserve it, and as much as you need me to take care of you for you to feel better, I also need to take care of you for me to feel better. Do you understand me?”

The blonde still looks doubtful, and not a tad less sad, but she nods minutely and Rachel holds that as something to start with as she gives Quinn a small smile.  
Quinn tries smiling back and it reminds Rachel of human cells – so small yet so, so important. But then her smile drops slowly and her pallid face grows paler, almost turning into greenish tint, making Rachel heart-wrenchingly worried once again.

“Are you OK?”

“I f-feel n-nauseous,” the blonde murmurs feebly, and Rachel scrambles to get the small tin bucket she thankfully stowed under the bed earlier. She is just able to place it next to Quinn when the blonde starts heaving on the bin, and Rachel keeps herself from making a disgusted face as she holds the blonde’s hair and rubs small circles around her back.  
Quinn is throwing up water, just water, making Rachel wonder when the last time she ate was.

And she doesn’t really know. But she knows Quinn didn’t eat in the cafeteria earlier, because Quinn never ate in the cafeteria. The familiar feeling bubbles within her again; it’s another one of their many responsibilities. A lot of the jocks even like calling Quinn a freak and fatty, even if she isn’t any of the two, and her heart drops at the thought of how low Quinn might be thinking of herself because of that.

Quinn stops throwing up after a while, and she leans against the headboard wearily, whimpering in discomfort and breathing unevenly. Her eyes are drooping closed as her head rolls from side to side feebly. All that crying and vomiting have doubtlessly left her drained.

“You should go back to sleep,” Rachel suggests once she puts the bucket down.

Quinn looks at her fearfully, forehead scrunched up and lips shaking a little, and Rachel knows she’s remembering her dream again and thinking that she might have it again. Rachel moves closer and gently puts some of Quinn’s stray hairs behind her ear.

“I know you’re shaken up, but you really need to rest, Quinn. Don’t worry; I’m not going anywhere. You won’t be alone when you wake up.”

Quinn just stares straight at her, as if reading her through her eyes. She wants to know if Rachel’s lying or not, so Rachel schools her expression into the sincerest she can muster, which she realizes isn’t that hard because she really is sincere.

To Rachel’s relief, the blonde seems to realize this, too, because she acquiesces.

“OK, Rachel.”

Rachel smiles minutely then supports Quinn’s blonde head as the other girl moves to lay back down again.

“Tell me if you need anything, OK? Don’t try standing up.”

“OK, Rachel.”

With that, Rachel puts the cold compress back on Quinn’s burning forehead.

“Rachel?” the blonde whispers a few minutes after she’s settled down. Rachel thinks she looks a little bashful.

“Yes?”

“I…uhmmm…” Quinn says, then swallows before shaking her head. “Ne-nevermind.”

“What is it, Quinn?” Rachel tries again, gently, because she can tell that Quinn really wants to tell her something.

“I…uhm… I need…” Rachel waits patiently. “I need F-Frankie.”

The short brunette raises her eyebrows. “Frankie?”

“My…uhmm…”

“Your?”

“My stuffed lamb,” Quinn finishes shyly, ears turning crimson as she twists her hands on the edge of her blanket and stares vacantly at the carousel in Rachel’s shirt. “I… uhm… it’suhm… it’sinmybag.” She mumbles the last part nervously, rising her blanket a little higher to cover some parts of her face and Rachel can’t contain her smile at the blonde’s antics. It’s adorable, really.

“Quinn, English only please,” she says with a smile, deciding to tease her a little as she pulls the blanket lower to see Quinn’s coy face again. She can’t help it.  
If possible, Quinn turns an even brighter shade of red and Rachel decides to stop making fun of her and end her little misery. “OK. You want your stuffed lamb, which is in your bag?”

Quinn hesitates then shakes her head slowly, shyly, and Rachel knows with the way she’s nibbling her lower lip that it’s really a nod and a timidly whispered yes please. She laughs a little. Quinn might be thinking that Rachel will find it weird. And it isn’t, as far as Rachel is concerned.

“It’s OK, Quinn. I understood it the first time. I’ll get it for you,” she says, standing up to retrieve Quinn’s stuffed toy.

It’s a medium-sized lamb – all white and cottony and gangly-limbed – that is already a little worn out yet obviously well taken care of. The stomach area has slimmed a lot, a testament to the fact that it has taken its huge share of tight hugs, and Rachel thinks it has the cutest little face ever. She skips a little – she actually skips a little – to Quinn’s bed and offers it to the blonde warmly. Quinn accepts it with a shy smile and bright eyes.

“Thank you, Rachel,” she says, hugging the stuffed lamb tightly to her chest. She kisses the sheep’s nose then remembers that Rachel’s watching her. She turns beet red and starts to turn around but Rachel stops her.

“Hey, hey. Don’t be shy. It’s not weird or anything,” Rachel says. “He’s cute,” she adds, stroking the sheep’s head.

Her heart leaps when Quinn offers her a warm toothy grin in return. She relaxes into Rachel’s bed, breathing shallowly as she hugs Frankie.

Quinn’s somehow tranquil face changes abruptly, however, when a series of whacking coughs suddenly consumes her, and she shifts unto her side, curling over her abdomen. She whimpers unto her pillow, leaving two wet spots on the cloth from the tears the coughing brought. Rachel rubs her back helplessly.

“Are you OK?”

Quinn just waves a hand dismissively and wheezes a little. “My s-sister g-gave him to me.”

Rachel is confused for a while because she was asking about the cough, but soon understands that Quinn is talking about the toy. “Really?”

Quinn nods minutely and gives Rachel a small, sad smile. The brunette waits for the blonde to perhaps share something about herself but gets nothing as she just silently strokes the stuffed toy she’s holding. For a while, Quinn looks content – exhausted but content nonetheless – as she lies there with Frankie. Yet when Quinn shifts a little on her side, Rachel sees her face change – her eyes going back to that faraway look that makes Rachel’s heart drop, like she’s caught in a memory – and she catches the tears form in the blonde’s eyes once again. Quinn closes her eyes softly before her sadness falls from her eyes unto the pillow.

Rachel can’t do anything but watch with heavy heart as Quinn quietly cries herself to sleep – stuffed toy in hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shy and home-bound Quinn Fabray's heart is pure. Sadly, she has to live in a world that isn't. AU/OC. Warning: Deals with parental neglect, intense and graphic child abuse, bullying and other dark themes. Angst and trigger heavy. Dork!Quinn, Cheerio!Rachel. Faberry, Quinntana, Fierce and BrittPezBerry friendships. Brittana and eventual Faberry romance.

“Do we need to call the CSI? To look around for your brain? What the fuck are you doing,” Santana snarls as soon as she crosses the entryway to the Berry kitchen. Now that they’re Brittany-free, she’s also free to voice out her dismay and outright disbelief. She’s staring at Rachel’s back like the head cheerleader has grown a second head which has a Mohawk as she paces close to the storming HBIC.

Yeah, right. Because she is the one that has the right to storm out of her.

“The right thing, finally,” Rachel counters simply, swiveling so that she could face the angry Latina, looking totally composed. Trying to fight with Santana would be a death wish, but not to Rachel. She is the only one aside from Brittany who could argue with the Cheerio and not expect to be buried alive the next day. Or that night itself, if Santana is feeling especially vicious.

Santana scoffs, momentarily staring off the side before gazing back at Rachel with a glare hot enough to burn Alaska. “The right thing? Do you even hear yourself? Since when is helping that “Quinn” of Disaster doing the right thing?”

The last thing Santana expected to find in Rachel’s home when she arrived this evening is a blanketed lump of nauseating dorkiness in the guest bedroom. The same one that Brittany’s worriedly gushing over now. The same one that has caused her present dismay and their future doom. If she had have known that it’s the freak they’re buying supplies for, Santana should have just brought poison.

“Since I acknowledged that we have been defining the word ‘right’ wrongly at school, Ms. Lopez,” the smaller brunette replies evenly.

Santana is awed. And not in the good way. Well, admittedly, maybe it’s the right thing. Doing some stupid philanthropic deeds for some weirdo. But it’s not the right thing for them. Not when they have the cold-and-unforgiving-ice-queens-whose-badassery-surpass-everyone reputation to uphold.

Also, Rachel called her by her surname. It may be cool at some other time because it makes Santana sound like a relative of Jennifer Lopez’s (and she’s got the looks to be mistaken as such, mind that), but not when they’re arguing. The use of surnames when they’re fighting signifies that Rachel is serious in her stand and there’s a good chance that nothing Santana will say can derail her from defending her side.

“I can’t believe your ass right now,” Santana just says, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms.

“And you think I can believe yours?”

“Well you should, because even if you’re smarter than me, my ass is bigger and I’m the right one for once. Can’t you see? I think she’s playing the sorry victim here, Rachel. That lizard-looking lunatic could be planning on a lot of things. I can’t believe you’d fall for something like that.”

“She doesn’t have to play the victim, Santana. If it’s not clear enough for you, she’s the victim here.”

“That’s bullshit and you know that.”

Well, fact is she’s not sure about that one, but she just has to be. It’s not right and probably not safe for them to just take that weirdo in. It’s a cruel world out there, and she thought she has successfully drilled it in Rachel’s head long ago. She rakes her brain for a point of argument. “Look at what Little Miss Innocent did to our project. Victim still? You’ll just let that one pass?”

“Oh, please. That project was an epic fail,” Rachel argues. “Plus, it was obvious that she didn’t mean it. And it’s not like you were looking at where you were going, too.”

“So you’re blaming me now,” she asks heatedly as she continues glaring at Rachel disbelievingly. Sure she got distracted when the broken-nosed (from an early and unfortunate run-in with Puck) JewFro’s uglier-than-usual face passed her by, but that doesn’t mean it’s her fault. Freakbray should have known better than to forget her place.

“No, and you know that. I just want you to stop blaming it all on Quinn. It’s unfair.”

“I won’t. And, seriously, Quinn? So you’re on first-name basis now? What’s next, you’ll have some private dorky clap or something?”

“Stop being ridiculous.”

“No, you stop being ridiculous. You saw what she did with Brittany. Who knows what she said to her to make her turn her back against me today?”  
Rachel walks toward the opposite side of the island and fixes a weird gaze towards Santana. “Are you even sure it’s her doing? That she’s the reason why Brittany’s mad at you? Are you sure it isn’t you?”

She gapes at Rachel. “What does that even mean?”

“Why don’t you just find a cure for your hopefully temporary blindness and figure that on your own?”  
Santana breathes deeply, trying to keep everything together. She’s doing her best not to lose her cool at Rachel this early in the confrontation. What’s with her friends and their crazy behaviors today?

“Fine. Whatever. Maybe it isn’t her fault after all. But it’s batshit crazy, even for you to bring her here. If anyone at school hears about this… Argh!” She’s frustrated with Rachel and there’s no use trying to hide it now. They’re not supposed to associate with this thing. It’s like the golden rule or something. “Why didn’t you just bring her home and let her parents take care of that screw-up?”

“Don’t call her that. And no one has to know. I tried bringing her home. Believe me, I did. But there’s no one there.” Rachel’s voice noticeably turns more sober. “That’s another thing. I called her father after we arrived. I asked Quinn for their number, and it led me straight to voice mail. They are yet to call me back.”

“You should have just left her there alone.” Sure, none of them three might be blabbermouths, but that dirty Jacob Ben Israel is like the Roman God of paparazzi-ing. He and his impossibly annoying afro seems to be present in every place and time in Lima and this occurrence could be all over McKinley High tomorrow morning if Rachel hadn’t been careful enough.

“It was raining,” Rachel argues. “She’s sick. I can’t just leave her there.”

“So you just decided to bring her here? Because I really think this is outrageous.”

“I don’t care what you think because that’s not what I think. You’re not the one who saw her earlier, Santana. You’re not the one who witnessed how bad it was. She was freezing. She has asthma, do you know that? She could have… If I didn’t… God, I can’t even…” Rachel shakes her head, a shamed expression on her face. “She was helpless. For once in my life I felt fucking helpless.”

Santana’s eyes widen and she backtracks a little. Rachel rarely curses – only at times when Barbra is being demeaned in any form of conversation, which means that she’s talking about something that affects her to no end. And it isn’t a good thing, at least in Santana’s book, for Rachel to be deeply affected by that nothing. Rachel deserves better things, better people, she knows that, so she tries to recover instantly. “You didn’t have to be. It’s not your problem.”

“Isn’t it?” Rachel questions with a soft scoff, her shoulders sagging as the truth hits her like a mullet to the heart again. “Do you think she’d be where she is now if we didn’t throw her around like a rag and let the football and rugby team mass slushy her?”

“Mass slushy?”

“Yes. That’s what you ordered, right?”

Santana’s forehead crunches in confusion. No it wasn’t what she asked. Brittany asked her not to punish the Weirdo because she thinks she’s sick so she ordered Azimio to be more creative and not slushy her.

But whatever. It’s not this conversation’s point. “It’s not our fault she’s sick. We did not spat bacteria into her mouth.”

“You don’t have to spat bacteria into another person’s mouth to render him or her sick. You should realize that,” Rachel replies, firmly but with a hint of sadness that makes Santana want to backtrack if only she isn’t so decisive over the fact that Rachel’s making the wrong decision. “I fully realized it today.” The shorter brunette inhales a breath of air and closes her eyes momentarily. “The look in her eyes, the way she’ll flinch and move away like we’ll attack her all the time, the shaking? We’ve given her something that’s more of an illness, and it’s not right.”

“Don’t you dare use some dramatic, poetic crap on me. If we make this as plain as day, I’m right, you’re wrong. That’s that.”

“You know what, I’m tired. And you’re not exactly helping. We still have our project to do and I want to help her. This is my place, and I’ll do what I want to do here. If that’s so hard for you to accept, you know where the doors are. Just call me when you’re out so I can have them locked.”

“What?!”

“You heard me.”

Yeah. But that doesn’t automatically mean Santana understands. “You’re choosing that Freak Show over me?!”

Rachel sighs tiredly. “I really, really, really don’t want to but you’re being irrational and you’re leaving me with no choice.”

Santana looks off to the side and breaths out disbelievingly, trying to mask the hurt she’s feeling. And God does it hurt like a bitch. This can’t be happening; not after everything they’ve been through. She feels her eyes start to burn but she blinks back her tears.

Santana Lopez doesn’t cry. Not even for Rachel Berry. Not even for a friend who’s willing to replace her with a loser they hardly know after all those years of watching each other’s back selflessly and without a hint of a second thought.

Rachel must have sensed what she’s feeling because she plops down the counter stool tiredly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t-” she says. “Look, San. You’re a great friend and…I love you. And I know you’re allergic to saying it back but I know you love me, too. You proved that to me a lot of times before for me not to know that. And I want you to prove that to me again tonight. I need- I need your help,” she admits helplessly. “I can’t do the project and take care of her at the same time. I know we’re not on the same boat on this, but please, for me and for Brittany, just try.”

Santana is silent for a moment.

“Whatever. Fine,” she says, shaking her head in constant disbelief.

“OK. Thank you, I guess,” Rachel says with a sad, half-hearted smile. “See you upstairs.”

Santana just takes a deep breath. She watches Rachel’s back as the smaller brunette makes her way to the kitchen doorway. She’s about to turn around to get a glass of water and perhaps calm her protesting senses but she takes a last-second chance to tell Rachel how she feels about this.

Maybe there’s still some goddamn chance that Rachel opens her eyes up.

“You know I’ll be regretting every single moment of this night after this talk, right,” she says calmly.

Rachel turns to face her. “That’s up to you. Just don’t forget where you are, Santana. And who you’re with. You’re not at school. You’re not with Sue Sylvester or the cheerleaders or the students. You’re at my home, safe with me and Brittany. Angry or not, you don’t have to act the bitch role here.”

And with that, Rachel is gone. Santana is left with the gravity of the truth behind the words. She can’t get herself to trust Quinn however. She can’t let that weird nerd get between their tight friendship. Not when she doesn’t deserve it. Not when she’s tipping the social scale.

And it’s not going to happen as long as far as Santana is concerned.

/

Santana is ten minutes from killing either the creature she’s currently freak-sitting or herself, or whoever from Berry’s neighbors she finds most entertaining to kill. Probably that curly-haired druggie three houses down the block who has tried to feel her three times. Maybe it’s time he gets more than a crisp kick in the nuts. Boredom is a bitch even bigger than herself. Rachel has insisted that they do their project on a separate room because it requires hammering and sawing and she doesn’t want the noise to wake the fevered psycho up. Someone needs to stay with the very same psycho, though, and so it has been decided that they all take turns freak-sitting her. Brittany is part of the deciding, so Santana had no choice but to painstakingly acquiesce. It’s the very reason why her two friends are in the other room right now, trying to fix their ruined project while she is stuck here with Supergirl because it’s her fucking turn along with a plate of bacon and a bowl of soup which she’s supposed to feed her when she wakes up. Or call Rachel once she wakes up so Santana wouldn’t have to deal with the burden of doing so.

Sighing discontentedly, Santana takes her eyes off the celebrity magazine she’s been listlessly reading. It features the Most Annoying Hollywood Personalities of the Year, and as expected, Ryan Murphy won for the third consecutive time. Santana can never question the survey’s results though; she really hated that guy’s guts. His yellow outfit could easily be the worst thing she has ever laid eyes on.

Placing the magazine on the free part of the couch, she burns holes to the creature currently occupying the guest bed instead. Why Rachel wants something to do with the Weirdo is beyond her imagination, much less her comprehension. Sure she isn’t too hard to the eyes, and she’s actually kind of pretty without her stupid glasses, but she’s beyond socially awkward and dresses like a villain that’s obsessed with destroying the world by promulgating vomit-inducing fashion.  
But Rachel and Brittany, for reasons as mysterious as Mr. Schuester’s source of hideous vests, want to take care of her, and Santana has no choice but to compromise by sacrificing her own beliefs. And watch over her with nothing but a swiftly-reducing amount of patience.

And Rachel’s last reminders infuriatingly buzzing inside her head.

Be kind to her. Or at least be civil. Try not to startle her as much as you can; she’s a little scared of us.

Santana wants to scoff. Civil my ass. That is so not happening.

A few more minutes later, Santana decides that she’s at the end of her bored threshold. Watching the freak sleep isn’t even close to as entertaining as teaching the freak a lesson. Waking her up would give Santana the opportunity to hand the freak a piece of her mind and at the same time let Rachel finally take over the watching part while she could finally be back in Brittany’s (hopefully) waiting arms.

Hmmm. Why haven’t she thought of that earlier?

Suppressing a smirk, she stands up and slowly makes her way to the girl. The look on Quinn’s sleeping face is disturbed, both painfully vulnerable and innocent at the same time, and that stupid little lamb she’s hugging tightly to her chest plus the cold compress on her forehead do nothing but make her look even smaller. For a second, she is painfully reminded of the kind of innocence she sees in Brittany and she’s almost tempted to just let the girl be. But she knows it’s all on the outside – Quinn is no Brittany. She could be planning something. She’s the weirdest individual Santana has ever seen after all.

Fighting hard not to let her emotions distract her from her original plan, she takes a deep breath then not so gently pokes Quinn in the forehead.

Her brows furrow in surprise when the girl in question scrambles away towards the headboard as if she has just been attacked by three hundred and twenty-seven non-Taylor-Lautner-like werewolves. Her breathing is heavy, and her face unnaturally pale. She’s wincing audibly and clutching her stomach like the movement caused her pain, making Santana a little curious.

“Geez, cool your panties down, Weird Case,” she tells the girl, a little stunned still. “To my and the world’s dismay, I’m not allowed to kill you right now so you’re kinda safe.”

“W-where’s R-Rachel,” Quinn whispers cautiously, eyes nervously drifting across the room. She’s still panting hard in shock.

“She’s on the other room. My girl’s got tired of looking after you so she practically begged me to stomach the burden of doing so,” she says dismissively. “Can’t say I blame her though, if you know what I mean.”

Quinn exhales sadly as she suddenly seems to find something broadly interesting in her lap, looking rightfully shamed. Santana can make out surrendering in her features, like she’s been expecting it from the beginning, but there’s disappointment in there, too. The combination makes a heart-wrenching look in the blonde’s face, but whatever. Santana knows better that to let it get to her. 

Never.

“I-I’m sorry,” Quinn says quietly, breaking Santana out of her (unexpected) stupor.

“Just don’t, please,” Santana replies, shaking her head and raising a palm. “You don’t get to say sorry. You know no one’s going to accept that. Well, Rachel might, stupidly, if she’s here. But she’s not because she’s actually on the other room fixing our project. Which would be familiar to you because it’s the same one that you broke.”

The sick girl shakily turns her eyes towards Santana’s nose. “I c-can help you f-fix it.”

Santana lets out an emotionless laugh. “And how are you supposed to do that? You’re sick as a dog, which means you’re even more useless than you usually are.”  
Quinn anxiously looks down again and starts fiddling with her fingers so Santana makes a big show of exhaling loudly, as if telling the blonde that she really should be in a different place right now. Which is nothing but the truth, if she thinks about it. She then takes the plate of bacon and sits down on the chair next to the bed. Quinn, who still refuses to meet her eyes, flinches a little when she plops both of her feet on the bed, subsequently earning a crisp eye-roll from Santana. 

Fricking weird, really.

She smirks when Quinn glances at the bacon longingly before licking her chapped lips and swallowing a little. Santana plans on giving it to the “poor” girl as Rachel wishes, but it wouldn’t hurt to torture the Loser first. Taking a strip of the ever-loved meat, she makes sure that the lowlife is aware of what she’s doing before noisily nibbling with the food.

“You want some,” she offers insincerely, raising the plate a little.

Quinn looks like she awfully wants to say yes, but she shakes her head instead, her features looking a little…unworthy?  
Well, that’s new.

“Exactly,” Santana forcibly says while trying to shake the suddenly strange feeling in her stomach. She wants to believe that she’s enjoying this, but she knows that she isn’t. Doing this to other losers before had been fun. Why is something in her gut telling her now that this isn’t as entertaining as the others? If it’s because the blonde is looking truly heart-wrenched, she’ll do her best to ignore it. “I don’t think you should have it.”

To her surprise, Quinn just nods acceptingly. “Can I- can I have some water please?”

She rolls her eyes and half-heartedly stands up, making sure her annoyance can be felt from the other side of the world.

Of course, there’s a pitcher of water on the table. Rachel is nothing but thorough.

She practically shoves the glass of water towards Quinn’s direction, some of the contents even swooshing out of its edge. Again, Quinn whimpers and flinches at the swift movement, and instead of just being annoyed, Santana becomes both annoyed and intrigued. Something is up with the crazy dork.

Not that she cares.

Or so she convinces herself.

She watches with no little disdain as the blonde sips her water slowly. She’s still a little tense, Santana can tell.

As if the world is taunting her, Quinn starts coughing hard again after Santana places the now empty glass back to the table so the Latina has no choice but to fill it again and hand it back.

“Th-thank you,” Quinn states hoarsely as she finishes.

“Not my pleasure,” Santana answers, placing the glass on the table and popping another piece of bacon into her mouth. Geez, it tastes really good. Now she knows why people on 9gag like it a lot. She stares at Quinn again, as a thought crosses her mind. “So, how is it? Do you like it?”

“W-what?”

“You know, playing with people’s mind, playing the victim card, looking even more pathetic than you actually are so that important people would feel sorry for unimportant things like you?”

Quinn just bows her head. Santana waits for a while for the girl to at least defend herself.

She doesn’t.

“How long are you going to invade Rachel’s space?” Not waiting for a response which she’s sure wouldn’t come either, she adds, “Will your parents even be calling? Because I’m not sure they’d want to, not when they can finally temporarily get rid of you. I mean, I won’t even blame them if they can’t love you.” She snorts for effect. “Who would?”  
She knows she’s gone too far when Quinn whimpers audibly with her shoulders slumping even more. Judging by the little that Rachel has shared to her, the Fabray parents seem like absent assholes. And if there is someone who understands how much it sucks to have at least an absentee parent, it should be Santana herself.  
But sometimes, she can’t help what comes out of her mouth. Snix just comes out naturally.

She tries to ignore the way Quinn seems to fold more inside herself. She opts to ignore the tears that have stubbornly fell on pale cheeks. She pretends not to see as Quinn places one wrist against her chest and rubs at it absently. Her words are physically hurting the girl. It’s a low blow, even from Santana, considering the fact that she’s attacking a sick person, and she has to admit that she’s starting to ache for the girl.

She doesn’t voice an apology though. Santana doesn’t ask for forgiveness. Especially not to Quinn Freakbray.

“Whatever. I’m out of here,” she says, suddenly slightly desperate for a way out before she gets swayed from her original purpose. “Rachel will be up here in a few. I’m done wasting my time with you. And don’t even think about saying something about this conversation to Rachel or Brittany, because I assure, if you do, hell won’t even suffice to half the payment.”

And with that she leaves the room, hands crossed against her chest, and not even bothering to look back.

/

Rachel pauses from her measuring when she notices Brittany playing with a piece of wood absently, seemingly lost in thought.

“Hey,” she asks nicely. “What are you thinking?”

Brittany shrugs, not taking her eyes off the piece of block. “Nothing much. Just the usual.”

“No you’re not. You’re thinking about something that’s more important. And you can’t deny that. As part of our magical abilities as the Unholy Trinity, I can tell.”

The Unholy Trinity is the group name Santana coined for the three of them for the very “meaningful” reason that it sounds so badass. Not that she can question the creativity, they named their little group 10 years ago. They were all six. And they named it just a few minutes after they watched a movie about Jesus, so there goes the explanation.

Brittany just shrugs yet again, so Rachel decides to be the one to open the topic. She may be fine fighting with Santana, because they’ve done it quite a lot, but when it comes between her two best friends, a fight is the last thing Rachel wants. She knows how much it hurts the two of them. They have an extra-special bond, she noticed it even before. “Santana’s bugged because you’re mad at her. You should talk to her and forgive her. You know how she gets when she’s stressed. It’s like watching The Conjuring unfold in front of your eyes.”

Brittany laughs giddily. “I like that movie. I want the doll.”

“I understand why you do,” Rachel says.

Meh. Who is she kidding? Of course, she doesn’t. That doll is nothing but terror. As a matter of fact, it should be officially placed in the dictionary next to the word creepy.  
It’s Brittany who brings the conversation back to its serious tone after a while. “I’m not mad at her. I just feel like a little sad because I know she shouldn’t have done what she did.”

“As in you’re disappointed?”

Brittany nods. “I mean, I know in my heart that she’s not a bad person but she’s being bad right now. I told her I think Quinn is sick, but I still found slushy stains on her hair. They still slushied her.”

Rachel sighs. She didn’t know Quinn was sick, but that doesn’t excuse her actions still. “She just thinks she’s doing what’s best for us, Brit. You know her. She won’t do anything that she knows will hurt you. She’ll come around once she understands everything and know that we’re doing the right thing by helping Quinn.”

Brittany shrugs. “I really hope so. I just want everyone to be friends. Especially with Quinn.” She gently taps the wooden block against the floor thrice before turning back to Rachel. “By the way, how is she? Is she still sick?”

Rachel frowns, remembering once again the state Quinn is in. “Yes, she is. But she already drank her medicine, so hopefully she’ll be feeling better in no time.”

Brittany smiles at her sadly. “I’m happy that you’re finally being nice to her. Even if it’s a little too late. Quinn breaks my heart all the time.”

Rachel’s too, if she should admit. “Why is that?”

“Because she’s always sad and scared and hurt and no one cares. Kids at school are not doing anything to help her not be scared and sad and hurt anymore. All they do is make things worse for her.”

Through the guilt that consumes her again, Rachel smiles sadly. If she hadn’t gone to the bathroom and saw Quinn like that, she wouldn’t have had completely realized how much anguish the girl is in either. She really can’t understand why people call Brittany stupid. She may seem like it, but she’s not. She’s smarter than everyone in her own little ways, and Rachel is proud of her for that.

“I’m one of those kids.”

“You were. All of us were. I didn’t do anything, too, even if I should have had.”

“Do you really think it’s too late though?”

“I don’t know. Maybe not. Quinn seems very nice. Maybe she’d want us to be friends with her. I know I want to.” She pauses, then looks at Rachel hopefully. “Does this mean we’re finally trying to befriend her?”

Rachel smiles. “Yeah. It’s like, I just saw through her, today. She kinda breaks my heart, too, you know.”

Brittany plows on. “Really? We can be friends? Even at school?”

It’s then that Rachel’s heart drops. She hasn’t thought about it; she doesn’t know what to say to that. She desperately wants to, to be honest, but she’ll be crazy to think that there’s no uncertainty to it. Being nice to Quinn is one thing; being nice to Quinn in public is another. And she doesn’t want to give Brittany false hopes. She’s not sure what would happen if she stays as nice as she is now to Quinn at school. To be safe, she shrugs. “I suppose so. I’m the HBIC, I was supposed to rule the school right. It was stupid of me to let innocent kids like her get hurt.

“It’s not you. It’s this whole High School crap that’s stupid.”

Their little conversation is suddenly cut out when Santana’s eternally-sultry voice cuts in.

“The princess has just woke up,” she declares, storming into the room and plopping on Rachel’s extra-soft bed.

“Oh,” Rachel states, standing up. “Did you give her food? Did she eat?”

Santana snorts. “What am I? Some fucking Zookeeper? You do it.”

“Santana,” Brittany says. It almost sounded like a warning to Rachel.

Rachel looks at Santana’s face, HBIC expression displayed and all. She doesn’t like how Santana is behaving. Na-ah. Not at all. “Tell me that you at least treated her right.”

“Damn well I did,” Santana says, smirking. Rachel can tell from the smirk that the Latina isn’t exactly telling her the truth. “Right and proper,” she adds slowly. “The way she deserves.”

“Well, I hope so,” Rachel states. “You know what I could do if you didn’t.”

“Oh come on. I treated your princess right and all that shit. Why don’t you ask your Weirdo friend yourself?”

“Don’t think I won’t. She’s been through more than enough of our crap today. She doesn’t need any more of your bitching.”  
Santana just shrugs and makes an exaggerated “whatever” with her face. Shaking her head and sharing a look with Brittany, Rachel leaves the room to check on her patient. 

/

Quinn is quietly sitting up with her head bowed down when Rachel comes into the guest bedroom. Not wanting to startle the girl, she softly knocks twice on the open door before noiselessly walking in. Quinn appears to be really down, and every ounce of the little easiness Rachel managed to build up between them earlier seems to have vanished into thin air.

She places the bowl of soup she has kept oven-hot in the table. “Hey. It’s me. Are you OK? How are you feeling,” she asks carefully, occupying the seat next to the bed yet again.

“I’m fine, Rachel. Th-thanks for letting me sleep here.”

“It’s nothing, Quinn,” Rachel replies with a relieved smile, calmed that Quinn is talking to her at least.

Quinn side-eyes Rachel shakily, but only for a very short while. Her gaze returns to her lap immediately, before nervously fiddling with her fingernails. Rachel’s smile slowly falls, her happy face turning a little concerned. Something is wrong; her inner psychic can tell.

“What’s inside that pretty head of yours,” she asks, keeping her low tone. Quinn turns crimson from the compliment, but doesn’t say anything in response, so Rachel adds. “I need to know what’s bothering you, Quinn.” She gently places a hand on Quinn’s forearm. Quinn flinches, so she winces a little and withdraws immediately. “Please.”

She’s not sure if it’s the almost pathetic please at the end of her statement or it’s just her natural ability to be charming, but Rachel is slightly relieved when Quinn’s body language shows a hint of disinclined relenting.

It won’t take a while, so she waits until Quinn finds enough confidence to voice her thoughts.

“D-Do you w-want me to leave,” the blonde stammers sadly, trembling hands yet again gripping the sheets like a lifeline.

Rachel’s jaw almost drops to the floor. That’s not even a question here. She wouldn’t want Quinn to leave. At least not until she’s sure that someone out there is bound to take care of the blonde. Not in a million years, no. “What? No,” she reassures immediately, slightly exclaiming the last part in shock. “No, of course not, Quinn. What gave you that idea?”

“I-it’s OK if you want me to l-leave, Rachel. I’ll u-understand if-if you wouldn’t w-want me here,” Quinn whispers, panting slightly as her emotions start to get the better of her.  
Rachel feels like her heart is being squeezed. Quinn just looks son drained. “No, it’s not OK, because I don’t want you to go. I told you, as sudden and as surprising as this may seem, I am taking care of you while your parents are out. I meant it. And when I say I mean something, I really mean it. Always.”

“R-really?”

“Uhuh,” she nods, letting out a reassuring smile.

Quinn swallows a little. “You’re not m-mad at me?”

“No, of course not. That thought’s crazy,” Rachel tells her honestly.

“You’re not tired of being with me?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Quinn whispers, obviously ashamed. “I’m s-sorry for d-doubting you, Rachel.”

“It’s fine,” Rachel reassures her gently. “You don’t have to say sorry. You have every reason not to trust me.”

“But y-you’ve been so kind to me and I d-disrespected you. I did something wrong,” Quinn confesses, voice shaking like she’s on the verge of tears. Which she is.

“No, you didn’t. I told you I understand,” she answers, watching the timid blonde carefully. She’s starting to look really worked up so Rachel hastens to change the topic and to dodge another asthma attack. “I’m not mad at you, alright? Or feeling any emotion close to that. Now, why don’t we leave the drama at that, and you eat so you can take your medicine?”

“But I-I already had my share.”

With a confused expression, Rachel glances at the plate of bacon and the bowl of soup at the table before staring at Quinn again. The foods are obviously untouched so there’s no way Quinn’s had had her fill. Also, the paleness and frailness in Quinn’s physique isn’t gone, a tangible testament to her being unfed yet.

“But you haven’t touched your food,” she says plainly.

“I already h-had water.”

“What?”

Quinn bites her lip, looking ashamed. “That’s what I should have today,” she explains.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

Quinn shakes her head. “I-I’m not supposed to e-eat.”

Rachel does her best to school her expression to as neutral as she can. She doesn’t understand why Quinn would be thinking of that. Is it because of the insults they subject the girl with daily?

She meets Quinn’s eyes sincerely. “No, Quinn, I insist that you eat. If it’s about what those bastards at school say, forget all of it. Everything we said about you, believe me, is wrong. You’re not fat or weird or crazy. We just said those lies to you because we can’t find ugly truths about you.”

“Y-you don’t have to l-lie to me, Rachel. I-its OK. I have l-learned to accept those things.”

Rachel sighs silently. There’s too many broken parts to fix. She hopes there’s still a chance for her to fix them. “I’m not lying.” Taking Quinn’s frail, warm hand, she adds emotionally, “You’re a very pretty girl, Quinn. Prettiest girl I’ve ever met, I should say, and even more than that.”

Quinn blushes yet again but she shakes her head ever so minutely. “No, I’m not.”

“You are. You just don’t realize it,” she insists, squeezing Quinn’s hand gently. It’s true. Quinn has no idea how beautiful she is, and Rachel won’t stop telling her that until Quinn gets it. But now, first things first. “Look, I prepared everything for you. You can’t not eat this. Santana had to conduct an impromptu grocery shopping so you could have this. I had to turn my back against my vegan principles because I know this is what you’ll like. Brit burned a finger trying to cook this for you-”

Quinn whimpers, her head hanging even lower. “I-I’m sorry-”

Rachel cuts her off. “No. That’s not what I meant.” She shakes her head at her mistake. “I’m sorry. What I meant is we prepared these foods for you and for you alone. What I want is for you to eat this. You need to eat, Quinn. Look at you, you’re too thin.”

She watches with amusement through her worry as Quinn takes Rachel’s advice quite literally and surveys herself for a while. She stares at her left arm, then her right, before lifting her blanket a little to look at her legs.

Quinn is basically clueless on colloquialism.

“O-OK,” she says, taking her eyes from her own body and looking at Rachel.

Rachel nods, contented. “What do you prefer to eat first?”

“Bacon, please,” Quinn says automatically, eyes brightening a little.

Nodding yet again, Rachel reaches for the plate of bacon and hands it over to the blonde. She tries hard not to smile as she catches Quinn follow the plate almost reverently, like she’s seeing Bacon-God in the food or something like that, unknowingly poking her tongue out slightly to wet her fever-chapped lips.

The blonde reluctantly takes the plate from Rachel’s outstretched hand and quietly looks at the plate for a while, then to Rachel. “Can I really eat this,” she asks, eyes and tone hopeful.

Simple words like that are not supposed to clench a person’s heart the way Rachel’s did. Maybe it’s because it is said in the same cautious way Quinn would ask permission for every little comfort she’s about to have.

“That’s just for you.”

Quinn gives her a toothy grin before practically attacking her plate. She moans happily at the first bite, and despite her usual disgust at anything meat, Rachel finds herself smiling warmly. The bacon is gone in no time, and Quinn is grinning dorkily when she finishes, then hands the plate to Rachel, shyly but contentedly. There are ridiculous-looking grease stains just above her upper lip.

“There’s uhmmm,” Rachel point outs, gesturing awkwardly at the grease. Quinn blushes profusely and wipes at it with the back of her hand not so gracefully. The action only spreads the stain all the more. Rachel laughs a little before grabbing a napkin and wiping at the stains herself. Quinn flinches at first, but then lets Rachel do the wiping when her initial, instinctive fear is gone.

Once it’s done, Rachel smiles at her then hands her the bowl of soup. The Cheerio watches as Quinn tries to balance the bowl with one shaky hand as the other one holds the spoon. Both of her hands are trembling badly, though, and it’s Quinn that has to painstakingly bend forward to catch the contents of the spoon or they’ll fall into useless drops on Rachel’s blanket. Quinn might have had been fine eating the bacon by herself, but the soup is clearly another story.

“Here, let me,” Rachel offers, gently taking the bowl and spoon from Quinn’s hands. She catches Quinn pout a little when the glorious gumbo is taken from her grasp and barely stops herself from laughing.

Quinn watches blankly, clueless as Rachel takes a spoonful of the soup before blowing at it gently.

“Open up,” Rachel says cheerily once she’s certain that the soup is in the right temperature, raising the spoon towards Quinn. The blonde, who isn’t expecting that at all, gasps a little and looks at her with the same vulnerable surprise that makes Rachel’s heart ache.

It doesn’t take long for the tears to fall on pale, porcelain cheeks. (Quinn’s not used to kindness, even if it’s everything she wanted to have).

Rachel looks stricken to the core. “Oh no,” she pouts, genuinely starting to get disappointed. “Don’t you want this,” she asks, withdrawing the food a little.

Quinn shakes her head frantically, almost fast enough to take it off her head before wiping at her tears fiercely, swallowing her tears and opening her mouth really wide. The adorableness of it makes Rachel instantly forget her just-been-there worries as she feeds Quinn, smiling all the while.

Once the gumbo is consumed, and happily so, she helps the blonde with her medicine and cough syrup before once again guiding her to lying position and tucks her under her warm blanket, complete with a fluffed up pillow under her head and Frankie in her sweet embrace. Rachel relaxes in her usual seat, singing silently to herself and banging her head to her own music.

“R-Rachel,” Quinn asks after a while, looking at Rachel cautiously.

The brunette stops her singing for a while to regard her companion. “Yes, Quinn?”

“I’m s-sorry for r-ruining your project. I promise I didn’t mean it,” she apologizes guiltily, looking stricken enough that anyone watching them would think she killed both of Rachel’s dads.

“It’s not your fault,” she reassure her.

Quinn shakes her head. “If you want, I can help you fix it.”

Rachel smiles. “I know you can, but you’re tired and sick, so I won’t let you help anyway. We’ll be fine doing it because there’s three of us. You should rest. Just focus on healing.”

Quinn seems to mull things over, pursing her lips in thought. “Can I help you after I rest?”

“We’ll see to that, OK?”

“OK.”

“Quinn?”

“Yes, Rachel?”

“Did Santana say anything to you?”

Quinn shakes her head frantically, her breaths getting a little labored. Well, her reaction practically declares the opposing truth but since Rachel knows Santana like she knows they live in America, she is a hundred percent certain that a threat has been involved. A death threat, to be exact. And she doesn’t want Quinn’s fragile heart to get even more scared than it already is, so she hastens to reassure her.

“OK. I believe you, Quinn. I just wanted to make sure that she didn’t because she promised me.”

Quinn nods, seemingly relieved enough to offer Rachel a sad, shaky smile that, like all the rare others, melts Rachel’s heart.

“I-I like your sheet,” Quinn says groggily, blinking sleepily. Rachel can tell that the medicine is starting to make her drowsy.

Rachel feigns surprise. “You like my what? Quinn Fabray, did you just swear?”

Quinn’s sleepy eyes widen in shock as she realizes what she just said. Looking terribly distraught, she looks at Rachel with wide eyes. “No-I- I said- I meant-”

Rachel’s amused laughter cuts her off. Quinn just continues to stare at Rachel worriedly. “Quinn, relax. I was joking.”

“Oh,” the blonde says, her mouth staying open for a while after that, as the information sinks in. “S-sorry, Rachel. I-I didn’t know.”

“It’s not something you have to be sorry about.”

“Really?” Quinn asks. “But-”

“Shhh. It’s OK. Just rest.”

“But I mean it, Rachel. You have a nice…uhm…” Rachel watches her blush again. “uhmm… Co-cover.”

“I have a nice sheet. I know.”

Quinn bites her lip but giggles softly. “Yeah. There’s- there’s dogs and cats.”

Rachel runs her hand over Quinn’s blanket before looking at the sleepy blonde again. “You really like animals, don’t you?”

Quinn just nods and smiles dorkily, eyes already drooping more than halfway.

“OK. Just sleep now. There’d be more animal sheets to see tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“OK,” Quinn says excitedly, inhaling contentedly as she hugs Frankie tightly and relaxes against Rachel’s bed.

“G-goodnight, Rachel.”

“Goodnight, Quinn.”

“D-don’t leave, please.”

Her stomach falling, Rachel sighs sadly, clearing Quinn’s still-burning forehead from stray hair. “I promised you won’t be alone when you wake up, and I’ll make sure you won’t.”

“OK,” Quinn murmurs, voice fading as she goes into dreamland.

/

Santana’s eyes are burning. Her back is protesting, her head is throbbing and her hands are starting to go numb. Exactly what she needs, she thinks sarcastically. It’s one in the morning. They’ve been working on their project for hours, and nothing seems to work. They’re damage control isn’t really damage control because they’re just really creating more damage than control.

It’s Brittany that’s looking after their resident-weirdo-but-really-just-burden right now, so she’s alone with Rachel, who is still being cold to her.

Yeah. Because that’s another thing she needs.

She takes her eyes off the wooden piece of sh*t in her hands and moves them to the smaller brunette, who is starting to rock down to sleep at the foot of the bed, looking at their sh*tty creation, a little dazedly. They’re both too sleepy that she’s pretty sure none of them understands what they are doing anymore. Sure, Rachel belongs to the top three percentile of her class when it comes to their grade average, but she’s almost as bad as Santana when it comes to physics and inventing and all of this sh*t.

She goes back on her project and tries to focus as much as she can on fixing it even if she’s starting to lose track of where she is and what she’s doing here anymore.

Her head droops in its own accord and she curses nothing in particular. She catches herself a millisecond before she hugs the dark, jerking back awake.

Only to have her eyes burn immediately again.

Eff it! She’s giving in. And through her peripheral vision, she can tell that Rachel is doing the same thing. She’s just going to wake up really early tomorrow to finish this up. She desperately needs to sleep. They’ve been awake the whole night last night, and because of that stupid dork they have to go through it again tonight.

If they don’t get to finish their assignment, she swears that that weirdo is really going to get it. All that they’ve put her through would seem like a vacation after Santana is through with her.

She thinks of that as she welcomes the dark, cursing Quinn Freakbray one last time.


	4. Chapter 4

The next time Quinn wakes up, the room around her is blurry and she’s alone and feverish – lost and confused – and she’s reeling from yet another terrible nightmare. She can’t register where she is, no matter how hard she tries. All she knows is that he – with his cruel face and cruel, cruel hands – was there.

He could be here.

She whimpers in absolute fear, curling on her side and clutching Frankie tighter to her bosom because her heart is pounding so fast and her chest is tightening so much it hurts. She’s shaking and she can’t stop it. There are tears in her eyes that she couldn’t prevent from coming, falling in fat drops on her pillow.

You made me really angry again, Quinn, he said.

I’ll punish you so bad, he said.

She clutches at the covers of the unfamiliar bed until her fingernails hurt and she starts to shake even worse. He’s going to hurt her. Again. She doesn’t want to hurt more but she doesn’t know what to do to stop herself from hurting either.

She really doesn’t. She wishes she does.

“F-Frannie,” she just whispers shakily, desperately, like a little kid, because she doesn’t know who else to call, tears falling freely from her tightly-closed eyes. It’s wrong to want things but she wants to be six again. She wants Frannie by her side. She wants Frannie to hug her even if it’s impossible. She needs Frannie because her head is hurting so bad and she’s so, so cold. “Can you h-hear me? Please, Frannie. Please come back? I-I need y-you...I need you so much,” she sobs.

Frannie doesn’t though, because she can’t. But Quinn really wants her to.

She really, really wants her to.

“F-Frannie? T-take me p-please? H-he’s g-going to h-hurt me again. P-please? Don’t you w-want me, too?”

Her tears are now soaking up the stuffed lamb, but she couldn’t stop them. She sobs quietly again, praying desperately that he wouldn’t keep his promise.

But, like a punch hitting her in the stomach (because she knows exactly how that feels), she hears them.

Footsteps.

Her eyes fly open in terror, her chin trembles, and she shakes some more, curling over Frankie tighter.

Help me.

“Quinn?”

She whimpers, closing her eyes tight. Please don’t hurt me, she pleads in her mind, even if she knows it wouldn’t stop him.

Please. I promise I’m sorry.

“Quinn? Are y-you awake?” the voice asks again. It’s small, nervous, and doesn’t sound like him, but it does nothing to stop Quinn from shuddering; it does nothing to calm her pounding heart.

Everyone’s going to punish you, he said.

No one’s going to love you, he said.

You deserve every little hurt and everyone knows that, he said.

“Oh, Quinn,” the voice is saying. It’s getting closer. Quinn’s head is pounding in fear now, and she tries sinking into the bed more, trying to hide behind the pillow. Her bruised stomach and shoulder hurt with how tight she’s hugging Frankie, but she ignores it.

I won’t be bad…Please.

There’s a clank of glass from somewhere in her side, and she knows she’s really going to get it. Father is always worse after he’s had his glass. She wonders how he would punish her this time. Would he lock her in the closet again? Punish her with the buckle of his belt until she bleeds? Slam her head on the wall? Punch and kick her again and again, until it hurt for her to stand? Make her kneel on frozen peas for six hours?

Or would he be more creative? Would he surprise her with another form of punishment?

Will she finally be ready this time? Because she never was before no matter how hard she tried.

Her heart is pounding so hard. Her head feels heavy and hot. A hand touches her aching shoulder and it’s then that she loses it.

She scrambles into sitting position, hiding behind her knees, sweating and panting, cowering as far away as possible from the hands that she’s sure was meant to hurt. She doesn’t let go of Frankie, keeping him safe in her tight hug as she sinks to the headrest, trembling violently. Her eyes are wide but unseeing, and she struggles to keep breathing because her chest feels so, so tight.

“P-lease don’t,” she pleads earnestly even if she knows pleading wouldn’t earn her a reprieve. 

“Don’t what, Quinn?” the confused voice asks. “It’s me, Brittany. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Quinn’s heart starts pounding slowly as realization slowly sinks in her brain. Her befuddled sight clears a little now that it’s not clouded with the same crippling fear. She slowly remembers. She remembers Rachel. She’s at Rachel’s home. Not at Russel’s. Her breathing eases a little, but the bad feeling doesn’t. Now, she feels less scared and more embarrassed and stupid.

“B-Brittany?”

“Yes, Brittany from school. Please don’t be scared. I’m not going to be bad to you like most kids do,” she says before tilting her head to the right, looking deep in thought. “Can’t you recognize me because you don’t have your glasses?”

Quinn shakes her head. She can recognize her, of course, even if it is indeed a little blurry.

“Why are you crying? You look so sad,” Brittany continues to prod, sitting next to Quinn’s bed.

Quinn looks at Frankie on her lap. “I-I just had a n-nightmare. I-I’m s-sorry.”

“Oh, Quinn,” Brittany says worriedly, bending a little and gently stroking Quinn’s cheek. Quinn flinches a little but Brittany keeps her gentle probing and only lets go when Quinn starts to relax. “I don’t like nightmares, too. They scare me so much. And I should be the one who’s sorry. Rachel instructed me not to leave you alone because you’re really sick and scared, but you were sleeping so I thought I should go down and make us some milk,” she explains, pointing at the glasses of milk she placed on the table. Quinn follows the action silently, a little relieved that the glasses in fact do not have alcohol in them. It could mean she’s not going to get hurt as much if she screws up again and angers Brittany or Rachel or Santana.

Especially Santana.

“Mommy makes me milk every time I’m sick. It makes me feel better all the time. I hope it’ll make you feel better too,” Brittany continues.

Quinn takes her eyes off the glasses to meet Brittany’s. “T-thank you,” she says nervously. She realizes her hands are still shaking so she puts them in her sides and clutches at the sheets.

“Oh, Quinn. You look really scared. I think you need a hug. Here,” Brittany offers, opening her warm arms invitingly.

Quinn clutches at the sheets tighter, her chest tightening, her emotions warring. She’s not used to this. Brittany shouldn’t hug her. She’s not sure if she’s really not going to hurt her. Besides, Quinn probably smells bad. Her father always calls her garbage, after all.

But she really, really wants to be hugged, too. Even more. Even if she’s scared. It felt really nice when Rachel hugged her. Like how it felt when Frannie did. She’d never forget. She felt safe…almost. It has been too long since she felt that way, and she desperately wants to feel that way always but she knows it wouldn’t happen. She’d never deserve it. She deserves to be hurt because she’s not learning her lessons no matter how much time her father wastes teaching them to her.

But Brittany is smiling at her, even if it almost looks sad. Then she realizes that maybe it’s her that’s causing the taller blonde’s sadness, and she doesn’t want that, even more than anything. So, swallowing her fear, she puts Frankie safely against the headboard and scuffles towards Brittany’s arms.

Silently, closing her eyes tight, she sinks into the other blonde’s warm embrace.

“It’s OK. Please don’t be scared now,” Brittany coos, rubbing small circles around Quinn’s back.

The smaller blonde just stays quiet, content with gently nuzzling her nose against Brittany’s neck. She lets herself relax. It feels good to feel this way even for a while, even just once. She may not have this again after this, and that makes her feel sad, which is wrong. She shouldn’t hope for anything.

“Do you feel less scared now?”

Quinn nods her head, fighting her tears. “Yes, I do. Thank you very much, Brittany.”

Brittany hugs her a little while longer before deciding to pull away.

Quinn doesn’t want to let go yet but she doesn’t tell Brittany that lest she upsets her, screw this up. Then she remembers something, making her a little paler with nerves. “R-Rachel said y-you burned your finger,” she whispers anxiously.

“Oh,” Brittany says, raising a band-aid-wrapped finger. “Yes, I did. But it’s OK now. It was so little. Santana mended it.”

“I-it’s my fault,” Quinn admits, hanging her head. She’s really embarrassed. All she does is cause harm to others. It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t mean to. She still screws up. “Y-you shouldn’t get near me,” she adds even if all she wants is be near Brittany right now because it’s nice to have someone there.

“No, it’s not your fault. How can it be? Rachel said that it’s the fire’s fault. At first I thought it was my fault for hurting the pan with fire and the pan’s just getting back at me, but Rachel cleared it all up. She said the pan doesn’t hurt with fire, but fire hurts everything else so I should be really more careful around it.”

Quinn just stares at Brittany as she unconsciously picks at her palm, a little awed. She has never heard anyone talk about fire and pan like that before. Sure, she never really talked to anyone, but Brittany sounds a little…different. And Quinn likes it. She likes Brittany. Quinn thinks she herself is different, too. Different enough to not have a friend, even. She realizes she’s happy for Brittany because she has friends.

“Anyway, can I add you in Facebook,” Brittany asks suddenly. Quinn is a little surprised with how fast the change in conversation went.

“I-I don’t have it,” she admits shyly, blushing a little. She’s heard about it from other kids, but she doesn’t know how to do it. Father doesn’t allow her to use the internet. He says it promulgates sin. Besides, Facebook is about having friends, and she doesn’t have them. She can’t have them. It would be pointless.

“Oh. What a shame,” Brittany exclaims, body sagging a little.

Quinn hangs her head again, embarrassed. Her heart beats rapidly and she wants to cry so bad; now Brittany knows how much of a freak she really is.

“Because Rachel said we can ask you to be our friend now, and asking you to be our friend in Facebook would legally seal it so…”

Quinn gasps, her heart pounding even more. She looks at Brittany, eyes wide, and breathing really deeply. She can’t believe what she’s hearing. “F-friends? R-Rachel wants me to be her fr-friend?”

Brittany nods eagerly. “Yes. We both want to. And Santana will, hopefully. Or eventually. She’ll just need more time.”

Quinn hesitates. “But I d-don’t know how to be a friend.”

“It’s easy, silly. You just have to be yourself and let your friends see it,” Brittany exclaims. 

The smaller blonde is conflicted. Brittany makes it sound so easy. Maybe it is. Quinn feels hope bubble in her chest.

She can have friends. 

“So, do you want to? I know we were mean to you before, but I really, really regret it. And Rachel says she regrets it, too. We’ll prove it to you. We want to be your friend,” Brittany urges, eyes hopeful.

Quinn twists her hands uncomfortably, face contorting a little in anxiety. Friends. It’s all she wants. But she’s scared because she knows she’ll just be disappointing them. She’ll just hurt them. They’d just hate her in the end, too. They’d just leave her when they get tired of her.

But she really, really, really wants to say yes, too. Friends. Impromptu hugs. Sleepovers. Chocolate drinks. Sweet kisses on the cheeks. People to draw. Safety. Especially safety. She might finally have them. Her mouth itches to say yes. Her heart, too.

“Come on, Quinn. Be our friend. I’m sure you want it,” Brittany urges.

Biting her lip, Quinn finds enough courage to meet Brittany’s eyes. “Y-you promise you won’t r-regret it?”

The taller blonde regards her heartbrokenly. She takes Quinn’s hand. “Oh, Quinn. I’m really sorry for everything we did. I promise not to regret it. I want to be your friend forever.”

Quinn looks down, blushing. She’d do this. “O-Ok,” she whispers.

“OK?” Brittany gasps.

Quinn nods shyly, then lifts her head a little to study Brittany carefully, fearing she’s just toying with her. This is so like a dream.

The blonde seems really sincere, though.

“OK,” she says with a small grin.

“Yes!” Brittany does a little happy dance in her seat. Quinn watches her silently, smiling a little. “We should drink to that! Do you drink?”

Quinn is confused. What does Brittany mean? Of course she drinks. People need to drink. Why would Brittany ask her that? Then her eyes passes the glasses on the table. “Oh. You mean t-the m-milk?”

“Oh, I almost forgot about that. It’s not what I really meant, but this would do, I guess,” Brittany says, taking both glasses. “Here, drink this. This is our celebratory drink as friends.”

“F-friends,” Quinn repeats in a whisper, heart thumping again. She takes the milk shyly when Brittany offers it to her.

“Come on, give me a toast.”

Quinn’s forehead scrunches a little. “I d-don’t have bread. I-I’m sorry.”

Brittany laughs. “Oh, you’re a cute, silly little puppy. That means we bump our glasses. But it’s OK though, I’m confused as to why it’s called that, too.”

“Oh,” Quinn says, her anxiety building up a little. She sees father do that with mommy a lot. But he doesn’t say give me a toast. He just raises his glass and mommy understands.

But Brittany is not like Father. She can’t be.

Brittany is happily raising her glass, though, so Quinn makes her glass bump with Brittany’s cautiously, even when it’s shaking so bad. She doesn’t want to anger her.

She takes a sip of her milk after Brittany did, and she forgets her fear for a while. It tastes good. She likes milk.

“You need to have a Facebook, though, so you could officially confirm our friendship,” Brittany states after a while.

Did she mention she doesn’t know how to? But she doesn’t want to make her f-friend angry, so, “I-I’ll try to make one,” she says unsurely.

“I can help you if you don’t know how to,” Brittany offers brightly. “Santana made mine, but I know how to do it now. But you’re still sick so we’ll just make you a Facebook account when you’re well.”

“Really?”

“Yes, of course.”

“O-OK.”

Brittany smiles widely. “To friendship!” she exclaims, raising her milk for a toast again.

Quinn obliges nervously. But this time, she’s slightly happy, too.

To friendship.

/

“The dynamo was placed and configured correctly, but the size of the propeller isn’t proportionate to that of the body,” Quinn is saying softly, gesturing on the useless project. “If we make the plane’s body a little thinner or smaller, then the force being exerted by the propeller would be enough to make this thing fly. If you can see, the body is too heavy so--”

Quinn glances at Brittany and noticeably blushes when she realizes that Brittany’s just gawking at her truly awed. She stops talking immediately and just locks her eyes hard on the helicopter she’s working on, looking a little self-conscious now.

Brittany frowns. She doesn’t understand why Quinn stopped talking; she likes listening to her talk. Her voice is so soft, like feather. And she sounds so smart. It was probably the longest she has heard the smaller blonde speak, and it was like music to her ears.

She didn’t want to make Quinn come to Rachel’s room and help them with their project, but the smaller blonde insisted to the point of shedding tears. She seemed so guilty over something that Brittany thinks is not even her fault, and it breaks her heart to see her new friend beat herself up over this. And San and Rachel seemed to be having problems with fixing the project so she finally let Quinn help, but not before making her promise that she’d tell her if she starts feeling sick, and that she’ll just be there to instruct while Brittany does the actual tasks.

“Why did you stop speaking? You were making my head hurt.”

“I-I was?” Quinn looks at her, looking truly remorseful. “I-I’m sorry, t-that was stupid of me. I’ll just stop talking,” she mumbles.

“No, that’s OK. Actually, that’s good, really good. My little brother said that an aching head means a thinking head. You got me thinking about the lesson. I didn’t really get it when Mrs. Warwick was discussing it to us but with you, I--”

“It’s Mrs. Woodwick,” Quinn corrects, lifting her head a little.

“What?”

“T-the Science teacher. Mrs. Woodwick, not--” Quinn repeats, before seeming to realize something and casting her eyes downward again, face really regretful. “S-sorry I interrupted you.”

Brittany watches Quinn carefully, and it breaks her heart to see her look so guarded and scared and uncomfortable. Like she always was. Like she’s thinking what she’s doing is wrong all the time.

“Don’t be sorry,” she answers. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t think I know a teacher’s surname correctly. Remembering our lessons is hard enough. Trying to remember teachers’ names too would be too much. I can only do one. And Sanny said remembering the lesson is more important than remembering the teacher, so I always choose to remember the lesson more than the teacher.”

Quinn stares at her then, mouth open cutely. Brittany smiles a little. People might not notice it, but she understands that people find her strange. And when they’re looking at her after she speaks her mind, she can tell that there’s judgment and a little bit of disgust on their faces. They think she’s too stupid to know, but she isn’t. So many people look at her strangely. Except her family and Rachel and Santana. They look at her with love all the time.

Others, though, think she’s just another stupid blonde. She had seen too many looks like that to not know until now.

So she can tell that Quinn doesn’t think of her that way. If anything, she just looks purely awed. Curious. No judgment, or disgust. No trace of thinking about how strange Brittany is. She looks like she’s just trying to take it all in. Trying to take everything about Brittany in.

Trying to understand Brittany wholeheartedly.

And that’s when Brittany decides, deep in her heart, that she really, really, really likes Quinn, and she’s going to be her friend for as long as she can.

“So what am I supposed to do to make it fly,” she asks, gesturing that Quinn hand her their project to settle the silence that followed her statement.

Quinn gives her the project while biting her tongue, but she’s obviously a little excited to teach Brittany if her slightly bounding toes are any indication. They spend the next hour trying to do the necessary adjustments to make the thing fly. Quinn tells her the instructions shyly but clearly, so Brittany doesn’t find it hard to comply. Also, Brittany does her best to finish the project as fast as she can so that Quinn can rest at an earlier time, especially when the sick girl starts coughing a lot after about an hour.

After Brittany glues in the last of the pieces, she stares at Quinn unsurely. “Do you think I did it right?” she asks, face a little worried.

“Yes, of course,” Quinn answers softly but surely. “You did really well.”

“Should I try it now?”

Quinn nods encouragingly, so Brittany nervously nods back. With bated breath, she turns the dial on the side of the plane a few times and waits nervously.

And then it whirs to life.

Both of them stare with mouths open in excitement as the helicopter successfully hovers a few feet above the ground. Brittany hurriedly catches the rope that they tied around the project’s tail before their hand-made helicopter crashes against the roof. She pulls it down and presses the off button. The propeller decreases its rotation speed until it stops fully.

She looks at Quinn with the same shell-shocked but happy expression that she’s sure never left her face. The other blonde’s face is mirroring her own.

She did it! It’s the first science project that she made herself!

Quinn beams at her, shyly, but she still looks so, so proud.

Santana and Rachel would be so proud.

Hell, Brittany is so proud of herself. She doesn’t remember ever feeling this smart!

“We should take a picture of us and the plane,” she says happily, blindly groping her pocket for her iphone. She’s pretty sure she put it there. But it’s not there, so she grabs her bag and searches at the contents instead. She finds the phone inside her lunchbox…again.

“Just for remembrance,” she quips when she finally gets hold of it, walking next to Quinn. People do a lot of photography nowadays. She likes taking photos of Lord Tubbington’s lustful facial expressions. Rachel photographs her precious, music-producing throat at least five times a day. Santana likes photographing her sexy lace panties and sells the photos on Ebay.

She sits Indian style next to Quinn, positions the now-working plane so that it’s between them and opens her Camera 360 app, then makes a peace sign and grins widely. She is about to tap the shot bar when she feels Quinn squirm a little beside her. She puts her phone down and studies her friend, frowning a little. Then she her frown turns into a smile of amusement.

Quinn is looking at her lap uncomfortably, biting her lip and blushing to the tip of her ears.

The taller blonde coos in her head again. Her new friend is adorably bashful.

“Come on, Quinn. Don’t be shy,” she urges, nudging Quinn in the shoulders slightly. She doesn’t expect the pained whimper that leaves the other girl’s lips as she cradles her shoulder.

“Oh no! Are you OK? Did I hurt your arm?”

“N-no, I’m OK,” Quinn answers, an alarmed look crossing her face. Brittany frowns in concern. She doesn’t understand what’s happening, but she feels her stomach drop for a reason she doesn’t know. 

“You’re sure?”

Quinn nods, eyes desperately pleading for Brittany to believe her.

Brittany looks at Quinn, thinking deeply. “OK, Quinn. My body is sore when I’m sick, too,” she tells her, although she’s still slightly worried. “Now, let’s take a picture.”

The smaller blonde blushes yet again. “Y-you can just be alone in the p-picture. I can take it for you,” she says bashfully. “I’d just make it look bad.”

Brittany scoffs. “Pffft. That’s impossible, Quinn.”

Quinn doesn’t answer. She refuses to look at Brittany. Instead, she casts her eyes downwards again, looking like she doesn’t believe her.

Sighing, Brittany just decides not to force her. “Let’s just not take our photos then,” she suggests. Her new photo with the plane should be with her new friend or nothing.

Then, a better idea crosses her mind. She stands up, and uses her best ninja-moves to crawl towards Santana.

“What are you doing?” Quinn asks nervously, following Brittany’s movements with her tired eyes.

“Shhh,” she shushes her gently. “I’m going to take their photos. I know it seems mean, but friends do this to their real friends all the time.”

“Really?” Quinn whispers.

“Yes. Santana has a collection of Rachel’s hilarious sleeping faces,” Brittany shares. “I’ll show them to you sometimes.”

Quinn nods, although she still looks shocked and unsure.

The Cheerio snickers as she finishes taking funny pictures of both of her friends. Quinn is just following her movements a little dazedly. The photographs are genius – they are so going to go a long way tomorrow.

When she looks at her blonde friend again to show her the photos, she realizes that Quinn is looking a lot weaker than earlier. She catches the smaller blonde unsuccessfully suppress a shiver, and the sight effectively makes her naughty grin fall into frown.

“Are you OK?”

Quinn nods weakly but Brittany can tell by her really pale face and drooping eyelids that she’s starting to feel really unwell again. She slides next to Quinn then, gently puts her arm around her shoulders.

Quinn immediately sags quietly against Brittany chest, trying to find even a tiny bit of comfort. And comfort for Quinn is only but a portion of what Brittany’s willing to give to her.

She can feel the heat of the girl’s forehead through her shirt, though. “I think you’re burning up again. Maybe your medicine is wearing off,” she says worriedly, while trying to think of what to do. She looks at both of her sleeping friends. They both have their mouths open, and they look like they’re sleeping uncomfortably, but she decides to let them just sleep that way. Their bones could ache all they want tomorrow; they kind of deserve it for making Quinn sicker. “Maybe you should just sleep in Rachel’s bed. It’s nearer,” she says. “Come on, I’ll help you.” She starts lifting both of them up.

Quinn seems hesitant. “R-Rachel might get angry.”

“No, she won’t,” Brittany answers.

“But they look uncomfortable. They’d h-hurt tomorrow. Maybe they should sl-sleep on the bed. I can just sl-sleep here,” the smaller blonde says, looking at both Rachel and Santana with pure concern. 

Brittany makes an ‘awwww’ sound in her head. “It’s OK, Quinn. They’re used to sleeping that way,” she lies, just to convince the smaller blonde.

“R-really?” Quinn asks worriedly.

Brittany wants to lie again but she frowns instead at the terribly forlorn look on Quinn’s sweet face and just decides not to.

“No, I was lying. But it’s OK. You’re the sick one so they’ll totally be fine with that.”

“A-are you sure?”

“Yes, I am. I promise, I’m sure. And I’m also sure I won’t be able to make them switch places. They sleep like dead snails.” She whispers the last part dramatically, as if she’s telling Quinn a special secret. The smaller blonde bites her lip and giggles a little.

“OK, Brittany.”

The Cheerio then helps Quinn to Rachel’s bed and tucks her safely under the covers. She frowns in concern when Quinn doesn’t stop trembling even with the thick blanket on. She really needs to drink her medicine. She checks the time. The last time she drank her medicine was four hours ago; they’re just in time for her next dose.

“I think you’re medicine is left in the next room,” she says. “Can you wait here? I’ll just get them for you.”

Quinn nods, nuzzling against a pillow. “Th-thank you, Brittany. C-can you get Frankie, too?” she asks shyly before burying her face in her pillow slightly. “Sorry.”

“Shhh. Don’t say sorry. I’ll get it for you,” she says, before turning around without a second thought. She’s almost at the door when she remembers that she doesn’t know what the blonde is talking about. “Wait, who’s Frankie?”

“T-the lamb,” Quinn explains.

Oh. Brittany giggles. She noticed the lamb earlier. She likes lambs. She likes it that Quinn likes lambs. “Sure. You just wait here, OK?”

Quinn nods, smiling shyly. Brittany winks at Quinn, who blushed, before heading for the medicines and Frankie. When she comes back, Quinn is still lying down, but her eyes are open tiredly and she smiles weakly when Brittany arrives at the door. 

She was really waiting for her.

Touched, the taller blonde walks next to the bed and helps sit Quinn up so she can drink her medicines. She has to ask Quinn about which pills to give her, though. She still gets confused with medicines a lot.

After the blonde has had her fill, Brittany helps her lie down again. She hands her Frankie and Quinn happily reaches for her friend, making the taller blonde smile.

For a while, Brittany just sits next to Quinn to watch her sleep just in case she has a nightmare again. The look on the smaller blonde’s face when Brittany came in with the milk was really heartbreaking, and as much as possible, she doesn’t want that look in Quinn’s face again. She made the mistake of leaving her alone earlier, she’s not going to let it happen for a second time.

A few minutes later though, Quinn is still shivering and coughing weakly on her pillow, while Brittany is starting to get really sleepy. It is then than an idea crosses her mind.

“I should just cuddle with you,” she suggests cheerfully. “My mommy always cuddles me when I’m sick. That way, you wouldn’t have nightmares, and I can sleep, too.”

Quinn’s eyes are closed but she blushes a lot, then frowns. She rubs at her closed eyelids absently. “But y-you might get s-sick, too,” she whispers hoarsely.

“No, I won’t. I took my vitamins this morning,” Brittany answers matter-of-factly.

Quinn frowns again. “But I-I don’t smell good.”

Brittany giggles. “You’re silly, Quinn. You smell like sunshine.”

“Sunshine has s-smell?” Quinn opens a confused eye halfway to look at Brittany questioningly.

“Oh, you’re like a sleepy little kitten, Quinn,” she says. “Why don’t you just let me cuddle you, and let’s sleep together?”

Quinn blinks twice. “A-are you sure?”

“Of course!” Brittany says eagerly, jumping to Quinn’s bed gently and settles with Quinn under the covers. She opens her arms wide for the blonde but she can tell that Quinn is hesitating. “It’s OK, Quinn, don’t be shy,” she urges.

“O-OK,” the other blonde murmurs, slowly squirming towards Brittany and gently sinking into her hug, resting her tired, heavy head on Brittany’s chest. The taller blonde immediately wraps the quiet blonde in her safe embrace, content to just hold the fevered girl there.

“G-goodnight, Brittany.”

“Goodnight, Quinn.”

“Y-you’re warm,” Quinn mumbles sleepily. “Like F-Frannie.”

Brittany is too sleepy to ask about who Frannie is. So she just says, “You’re warmer.”

Quinn giggles a little, even if it has a little wheezing sound in the end. “That’s because I’m sick, silly.”

“That’s because your heart is warmer than everyone else’s,” Brittany counters.

“Really? But…”

“Shhh…”

“I-I’m sorry.”

“Shh,” she hushes again, rubbing the blonde’s back to calm her down because she can feel her heart beating faster against her chest again. “Just relax and sleep, Quinn. It’s OK.”

“A-alright. Goodnight again.”

“’night.”

/

The first thing Santana notices when she wakes up the next day is the aching in her joints. She’ll soon realize that it’s because she has fallen asleep hunched against the side of Rachel’s bed, exhausted, cold and uncomfortable.

The second thing she notices is that it’s morning, and she remembers all of them falling asleep while doing their project. While, not after, which means that there’s a very good chance that they haven’t finished it, which means that they wouldn’t be able to pass their Science class, they’d be kicked off the Cheerios and their dreams are dead. Brittany’s dreams are dead. She curses nothing in particular, because it’s too early to find something specific to curse, as she angrily pushes herself into sitting position. They’re officially doomed.

The third thing she notices, which brings her fury to the highest possible notch, is that the cause of their doom is now in the room with them, and is tucked inside Brittany’s warm hug instead of Santana. She’s usually cranky in the mornings, but this is a whole lot different.

Now she has a specific thing to curse. She can feel the heat of her anger rise at the base of her neck, consuming her entirely, uncontrollably.

What is that bitch thinking?!

Fuming, she storms towards the blondes’ direction and kicks hard at the bottom of the bed. The jerking immediately snapped Brittany’s eyes open as she groggily looks up at Santana. Quinn just moans weakly, looking too sick and tired to do anything else, but her terror is obvious with the way she trembles violently and tucks herself further against Brittany, trying to look as small as she can.

This only angers Santana more.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?!”

“San-“

“Get off her!” she shouts, practically ripping Quinn from Brittany’s body by grabbing her by the arm and shoving her towards the corner. Quinn, who is thrown away from the bed, sobs in fear, but she is too weak to keep her balance and so she just lets herself fall in a sitting position on the floor where Santana practically threw her, leaning weakly against the wall and curling over herself.

“Santana,” Brittany pleads. “Please, don’t hurt her!”

Santana is too consumed by her anger to listen to Brittany’s pleading. She snaps at Quinn again. “How do you manage to do this? Tie Brit and Rachel in your shoes when all you do is ruin everything for us?”

“San, please, stop! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Again, Brittany’s pleas go unheard. “You think you could just force yourself to us and be our friend? You actually deluge yourself with the idea that you deserve us, huh, freak?! You think anyone would even want to be near you?! We’ll here’s the headline for today just in case you haven’t heard it yet: you’re fucking wrong! You’re a loser, a fucking loser, and that’s what you ever will be no matter how hard you try! Do you understand me?”

“Santana! You stop this instant!” If the Latina isn’t too consumed by her anger, she would have noticed that Brittany is red in the face and is in the verge of a breakdown. But she doesn’t. All she’s seeing is red, and all she’s feeling is anger, and all she knows is that the freak needs to pay for what she did.

“Answer me!”

Through her shaking and panting, Quinn manages to hoarsely say as she rocks on her toes, terrified, “I-I’m s-sorry. I-I know I do-don’t deserve you. Pl-please d-don’t punish me.”

“Yeah right, as if that would happen. I’m going to show you what you deserve, freak,” she threatens, walking a little closer towards the blonde. Brittany tries holding her back in the arm but an angry Santana is a hundred times stronger, and it isn’t hard for her to shrug off the taller blonde.

“I-I’m sorry,” Quinn pants again, breaths erratic. She is turning red in the face from her fear and all the crying. “Pl-please…”

“Santana!” Another strong voice joins the fray. Santana gets a little distracted by that, and she momentarily gets her eyes off the Odd Show and settle them on her HBIC friend instead. Brittany takes that as her chance to approach Quinn, kneeling next to the harshly shaking and panting blonde. Quinn squirms away from her though, shaken eyes looking terribly lost and Brittany starts tearing up helplessly, confused if she should reach out to the terrified girl more.

“What’s happening here?!” Rachel marches up to them from the door, eyes ablaze with what Santana can surely tell is pure anger. Her hair is wet, as well as her shirt, so Santana knows she cut her morning rituals short when she heard of the commotion.

“I’m just advising the freak to know her place,” she counters, levelling Rachel’s stare. “I woke up to this leech sucking on Brittany and I only did what I was supposed to do as a friend.”

Rachel glances at a shaking Quinn, her eyes turning worried for a while, before seeming to compose once again burning a glare at Santana. “You need to leave before I lose it at you,” she warns, knuckles tightly clamped in her sides.

“What’s wrong with you, two? Why are you suddenly kissing up to that bitch? She’s a screw-up who knows nothing but bring the rest of the world to hell with her!”

“And you’re so much worse,” Rachel counters just as heatedly. “You’re behaving more stupidly than everybody in hell right now by attacking a sick girl.”

“Oh fuck this,” Santana exclaims. “Why are we even fighting about her? She’s probably rejoicing over the fact that she isn’t ignored like she rightfully does every fucking day! And if she’s sick, it’s probably because she fucking deserves it!”

“How can you say that? She doesn’t,” Brittany cries loudly, hoarsely, heart-achingly from where she sits next to Quinn, and both the other Cheerios turn their attention to, utter sorrow drawn on their faces. Quinn still has her head in between her knees, rocking nervously on her toes. There’s no indication if she’s too lost in her head to understand what’s happening around her. “You’re so mean, Santana! And stupid! I’m disgusted to be your friend! I don’t like you anymore!”

The other two cheerios are too shocked to say anything at that moment. Santana watches with her heart being cruelly split apart as the one person she cares about so much in the world grabs their useless project from the table, then her overnight backpack before running outside the house.

Rachel looks at her, and she’s too shocked to look back. “What are you waiting for? Get out of here because I don’t want to see your face until you fix your shit.”

The smaller Cheerio then kneels next to Quinn, and tries to touch her gently in the shoulder, perhaps draw her out of her thoughts. Quinn recoils at the slightest of contact, whimpering, but Santana doesn’t notice it at all. She doesn’t – because all she can think about now is that look in Brittany’s face and how much she has screwed up.

/

The car ride to Brittany’s house is full of unspoken tension. Now that the adrenaline and her early morning freak out have subsided a little, Santana is starting to feel a little guilty with how she has reacted. Sure, that weirdo has done a lot of mistakes lately, but she shouldn’t have acted like that in front of Brittany; she made herself seem like a total d-bag.

Brittany hasn’t spoken a single word since they left the Berry household. The blonde was determined to walk home and not be inside Santana’s car and if Santana hasn’t utterly pleaded to the point of kneeling down, Brittany would have had not come inside.

The blonde doesn’t even acknowledge her until now, though, and Santana just listens agonizingly with her stomach slightly dropping more and more each time she hears the blonde sniff. She really hates it when Brittany cries. Even a thousand more so if she knows it’s because of her.

But it should also be because of the weirdo who ruined their project and Santana believes it would be unfair of Brit to think that she’s the only one to blame in the early morning commotion. When Brittany sniffs yet again, Santana finally takes a deep breath and the courage she needs, and brings the car to a halt at the side of the road.

Brittany doesn’t even look at her. She keeps staring out the window, looking extremely, extremely upset.

Taking a deep breath, Santana starts, “B, listen… ”

The blonde cuts her short sternly. “Just take me home, Santana. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Please…”

“I said just take me home, Santana,” the blonde repeats – this time a little louder, still not bothering to look at the Latina.

“Please B,” the brunette pleads again, sounding a lot more desperate this time. She doesn’t care about reputations when it comes to Brittany. “I’m sorry, I really am. I overreacted, I know but---”

The blonde finally looks at her at that, face dead angry. “Overreacted?” she questions. “You went crazy!”

“I-I know,” she admits, feeling like an even bigger bitch than she is. “But I was too angry, and it was too early, and I-- I was confused. I wasn’t able to control myself. You know how I am in the mornings. Especially when I…I’m stressed and w…worried. I’m really sorry, believe me. Please.”

“It can’t take back what you did,” Brittany answers heatedly, her chest heaving along with her emotions. “Why did you have to hurt her like that? You know she’s sick!”

“Brit, I know it seemed awful, and admittedly it was, but you have to understand where I’m coming from. I was just protecting you; I was just protecting us.”

Brittany scoffs through her tears. “From what? From her? Are you blind? Can’t you see she needs more protecting than all of us combined? Do you even think she’s capable of hurting anyone?”

“It would be wrong to trust her--”

“I was wrong to trust you!”

Santana gasps, eyes starting to burn even more. Her mouth opens, but it takes her a few seconds to voice out a stuttered, “Y-you don’t mean that…”

“Yes, I do,” Brittany says. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt her but you still did and I hate you for that.”

Santana feels her heart being ripped apart. She’s a bitch, and a hater, but she needs Brittany’s love, and she wouldn’t be able to live her life with Brittany hating her. She can’t.

“Come on, B. Please…I was wrong, I know, but you know I wouldn’t hurt her too much,” she bargains desperately. It’s a douche-baggy excuse, she knows, but she’s desperate for Brittany’s forgiveness at this point.

“Too much? You shouldn’t have hurt her a little bit. Everyone has hurt her enough!”

“She kind of ruined our project, our only hope to pass that science class, the very same one we need to pass and retain our place in the Cheerios. It’s so important for me for us to get that cheerleading scholarship because you’re so important to me. You’re all I’m thinking about, believe me. I-I lo-” She shakes her head. “I-I look forward to seeing you in college. That’s all I wish for, and because of that Weirdo, you could lose your chance.”

“Yeah? You know what? That’s actually funny, because if you just took enough time to get your head out of your ass, then you’d know that that weirdo just helped me get my dream back.”

“Wh-what do you m-mean?”

“What I mean is if you just let your stupidity get just a tiny little bit behind you, you would have noticed that while you were spending the night snoring your healthy ass out, Quinn has to haul her sick ones out of bed to fix that damaged piece of wood you unfairly made her believe she broke in the first place. And thanks to her you might get your dream college life. But hey, prepare to have them lived without me, because I don’t even want to be anywhere near you after this. So drive this freaking car now, before I walk out again because frankly, every second I spend here with you feels like the worst times of my life.”

“Brit… I-I didn’t know. God, I didn’t… Brit… I’m sorry…”

“Well it’s too late. And if you still have an ounce of brain left, you’re going to start that car now.”

Santana, too shamed in shock, just silently follows what Brittany wants. Her heart feels like it’s carrying the world inside, and she barely locks in the urge to cry.

They reach the Pierce’s residence with the same sickening silence that enveloped them during the majority of the ride. Brittany is about to get out when she seems to think twice before looking again at a still reeling Santana. The look in her blue eyes makes Santana want to beat herself.

“Anyway, you broke two promises,” Brittany says. “You hurt her, that’s the first. And you said you’d never hurt me, but obviously, you did the moment you hurt her.”

She bangs the door before running inside their home, crying yet again.

Santana is left alone in the car, feeling like the world is about to collapse around her.

She wishes it would.

/


End file.
